Swazy Folks 



And Others 



Poems by JOHN D. WELLS 




WITH DRAWINGS BY 
ALBERT MACK STERLING 



BUF F ALO 

OTTO ULBRICH COMPANY 

Publishers 



^% 






i.'-.^ 



COPYRIGHT 1908, BY 

JOHN D. WELLS. 





Hausauer-Jones Printing Co 
buffalo, n. y. 



4 



tl|t0 book of mvBB is affiertuitt- 



Preface 

A GOOD friend has made objections to the 
title of this book, saying: "People don't 
know where Swazy is!" O, but they do! 
Every one has his Swazy — long "a," please, 
as in "hayin'." Every one knows that 
Swazy is any place where the population is 
sparse, where the cider mill and the shingle 
factory mark the line where the village leaves 
off and the open country begins; where 
"Town Meetin' " and Firemen's Day mark 
the cycle of time; where quoit pitching in 
the Methodist churchsheds and Sam Scrib- 
ner's Wagon Circus leaven honest toil and 
the even-tenored lives of the village "folks." 
O, yes, almost every man, who has ever made 
much of a success of things, came from a 
Swazy, somewhere. 

As for "the others," whose lives or stories 
are herein rhymed, they are people whom 
we have all met — soldiers, range-riders, 
sailors, "gods of the open air." Lastly, 
not a few of the verses are about children, 
the merry little souls who stand in the fields 
of Youth and watch us as we pass along the 
Path of Reality, turning bright faces to us 
for the instant and making us happier for it. 



These verses are assembled here to satisfy 
a call by friends to see some of the poems in 
permanent form. This was as much a 
surprise to their sponsor as to his most un- 
friendly critic, and, withal, a compliment so 
flattering that it demands compliance. For 
the most part, the verses have appeared in 
a special column on the editorial page of 
the Buffalo Evening News, called "From 
Grave to Gay, " which it has been the author's 
pleasure to edit for the past five years. To 
the owner of the News, Mr. Edward H. 
Butler, the writer is indebted for permission 
to reprint here, as well as for many kindnesses 
and a generous friendship that has made his 
service on the News most enjoyable. 

J. D. W. 



Contents 

Title Page No. 

Howdy 15-16 

The Dreamer ....... 17 

Bilin' Sap 18 

At Court 19 

Wishes 20 

Old Letters . . .... 21 

The Kettle Song 22-23-24 

The Street Musician ..... 25 

The Town Marshal 26 

'Twixt Seasons at Swazy ..... 27 
Leave My Dreams to Me . . 28-29-30-31 

Grandpa ....... 3^ 

Susan Serepty Perkins 33-34 

Brother Mine 35 

The Children of Poverty Lane ... 36 

Old Fire Company 37-38 

Lessons ....... 38 

A Birthday 39 

The Lonesome Time O' Night . . 40-41-42-43 

The Hushed Voice . . . . . -44 

Vender ....... 45 

The Conversazzhony .... 46-47-48 

The Blues 49 

A Song 50 

In the Toy Shop S^S^ 

Genywine Joy ....•• 53 

Triolet— To Her 54-55-5^ 

Pajamas at Traverse .... 57-58 

The Chanty Song . . ... . 59 



Title Page No. 

The Windows of My Memory .... 60 

The Old Tramp Printer .... 61-62 

Doggone Homesick ...... 63 

When the Last Trumpet Sounds , ' . . 64 

Ould Barney M'Ginn 65 

The Old Fishin' Hole .... 66-67-68-69 

The Tale the Stage Driver Told . . 70-71-72 

Discharged ....... 73-74 

A Cowpuncher and Prayer .... 75 

Jist Loafin' ....... 76 

In Dreamland ...... 77 

A Little Girl in Gingham . . 78-79-80-81 

Far Apart 82 

At Home 83-84-85 

The Measure of a Man ..... 86 

Mutterin' Joe 87-88 

A Soldier's Appreciation .... 89-90 

Defying Age ...... 90 

Little Lost Child 91 

Understanding ... . . 92 

Whare's He At ? 93 

The Man Who Lost . . . 94-95-96-97 

When Pals Must Part .... 98-99 

The Happy Man ...... 99 

Shadders loo-ioi 

Old Rosemont 102-103 

Winter Mornin's 104-105 

Fall 106-107-108 

The Last Edition 109 

Dan M'Carty of the Crossing Squad . iio-iii 

Gone . . . . . .112 



Title Page No. 

Romancin' ii3-"4 

The Place and Time for Prayer . . 115-116 

Outweighing All 1 16 

Old Fashioned Flowers .... 1 1 7-1 18 
The Folly of Superstition . . . . iiQ 

Ben Tarr Opines .... 120-121-122 
The Old Back Stoop .... 123-124 

The Nursery Battle .... 125-126 

The Lonely Man 126 

Folks Back Home 127 

Come Back Again .... 128-129 

Christmas Eve in the Old Manse . . 130-131 

An Investment 132-133 

John Thompkins' Fiddlin' . I34-1 35-1 36-1 37 

Old Ben Tarr's Idee 138 

A Man i39 

The Martial Band from Big Elm Flat . 140-141 

or Ben Tarr's Filosofy 142 

An Old Man's Deductions .... 143 
The Old Home Town . . 144-145-146-147 

Friends ....... 148 

To a Boy I49 

Going to Town with Pa . . 150-151-152-153 

Two Songs ....... 154 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 15 



"Howdy!*' 

¥'M shy on formal greetin's — as it's give me tew 

■*• observe, 

Them highfalutin' kovstows in the end kin on'y 

serve 
T' make a man suspicion, vpho's been off fer quite 

a dost, 
He's jest about half welcome, er th'ee quarters 

at the most; 
I tell y' what I 'preciate if I've been off a spell, 
An' meet some man er uther 'at I've knowed purty 

well. 
Is when he gits his bearin's and he sashays up 

t' me 

An' grabs me by the flipper, an' then he sez — 

sezhe: . , 

M owdy ! 

It ain't no satisfaction, when yer back from furrin 

parts, 
T' have yer nayburs greet ye with new-fangled 

delly sartes — 
There's sumpthin' "milk-an'-watery" that goes 

agin my grain 
In them 'ere sort o' greetin's, makes me want t* 

go again — 
A sumpthin' sort o' chilly an' onhullsome, I'm 

doggone. 
That alius made me wonder if it wasn't jest put 

on! 
They ain't no fair comparison, that I have ever 

heard, 

Betwixt them formal things y' hear an' that one 

friendly word: ., ,._ , ,„ 

Howdy / 



i6 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



There's nuthin' pitifuller, than a man 'ats got t* 

roam — 
Er nuthin' more pathetiker than when a man 

comes home; 
I 'low there's sumpthin' simple — sumpthin' home- 

lylike — in it, 
A simple sort o' greetin' is the on'y kind'll fit; 
Jest clasp his hand in yourn an' you give it lots 

o' heft, 
'N he'll think you've thought about him ever* 

minnit since he left, 
An' now, that he is back agin, he's welcome 

as the birds, 
Then make his joy completer with that friendliest 

of words: 

"Howdy!" 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 17 



The Dreamer. 

nr^HEY said he lived in vain, 
■*■ But, when he died. 
The gentle skies shed tears of rain — 
Those skies 'neath which he dreamed, and fain 
Would roam and dream beneath again — 
And children cried. 

They said he lived for none, 

But, when he left. 
The buds that 'long his path had blown, 
And all he loved and called his own. 
Did bow their pretty heads and moan 

Like souls bereft. 

They cannot see, who said 

He lived for none. 
That yonder woodland stream that led 
Along the path he loved to tread. 
Has ceased its song and sighs instead. 

For one who's gone. 

They cannot know who play 

There is no gain 
In living thus each joyous day 
In dreams of never-ending May, 
They cannot know — or would not say 

He lived in vain! 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



Bilin' Sap. 

"ITITHEN Natcher's bustin' out her pod, 

' * An' thoughts stirs up a feller's chest 
Of spring, an' hawsses turnin' sod, 

O them's the days I Hke the best! 
The days that I kin shet my noise 

An' jist lay back an' pitcher pap 
An' us an' all them Burton boys 

In Gullen's woods * * a-bilin' sap! 

I hain't no hand, an' never was, 

T' sling air native langwidge much, 
Ner pitcher dreams ner fancies, 'cause 

Y' see I wa'n't cut out fer such; 
An' days like this, doggone it, I 

Kin see I need most every scrap 
Of langwidge tew do jestice by 

A day like this * * an' bilin' sap! 

By hick'ry, I kin shet my eyes 

An' see that camp ez plain, I vum! 
It seems such mem'ries never dies 

But sticks to us twell kingdom cum! — 
An' see them pails an' kettle there. 

With golden sirup bubblin' in — 
It alius 'minded me, I sware. 

That pancake time wud cum agin! 

I s'pose that somewheres there's a tree 

In Gullen's woods — not more'n one, 
Fer Gullen's woods that used t' be 

Air all cut down fer ages gone — 
I s'pose that sumwheres there's a tree, 

A day like this, that's running sap; 
I like t' think it weeps fer me. 

An' all them Burton boys — an' pap! 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 19 



At Court. 

A T court no royal splendor rules, 
•*• ^ No ermine mantles robe the King- 
His crown is made of mother's spools 
Encircled on a gaudy string. 

With rattle-box for sceptre he 
Makes ready for his kingly nap, 

And summons each to bend a knee 
Before the throne on mother's lap. 

For we the monarch's subjects be — 
In servitude, abject, we kneel; 

A weak and humble legion, we. 
Oppressed beneath his rosy heel. 

And I am Jester to the King! 

I put aside my tricks and wiles — 
A jumping-jack upon a string, 

It takes to coax the monarch's smiles. 

I shake my jester's bells and strings — 
The monarch shouts in childish glee — 

His laughter through the nursery rings 
Far sweeter than a king's could be. 

But, hold, we bore the King, I own; 

"We pray the Lord his soul to keep," 
Tread lightly here around the throne — 

The King's asleep — the King's asleep! 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



Wishes. 

C^TJR light, star bright, 
^-^ First star I've seen tonight — ■ 
/ wish I may, I wish I might 
Have the wish I wish tonight/ 

Wish, you, then, my little e!f, 
That you always stay yourself — 
Wish to keep each golden curl — 
Be, for aye, a little girl. 

Wish to keep your childish glee. 
And the smiles you've smiled for mt 
Wish to keep your bonny eyes, 
Clear and blue as shining skies. 

Wish to keep your lightened heart. 
All your baby charms and art — 
Keep you all your ways and wiles, 
Dimpled hands and dimpled smiles. 

Wish — I would that it could be! — 
You might romp for aye with me. 
Through the day from early dawn. 
As you are — until I'm gone! 

Star light, star bright. 

First star I've seen tonight — 

/ wish you may, I wish you might 

Have the wish I wish tonight/ 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS ii 



F 



Old Letters. 

'ADED letters; How I love them! 
Why they seem to touch a string 
On the harpsichord of mem'ry 

'Till the hosts of angels sing! — 
Sing to me of loved ones, and the 

Hands that penned each loving line, 
Seem to reach across the chasm 

And I clasp them close in mine. 

Faded letters! From a sweetheart — 

From a mother, dear to me — ■ 
From a brother, and another 

Far across the briny sea — 
From a wife, she sent to cheer me 

In a strange and foreign land, 
And, the best of all, the letter 

Where she traced the baby's hand. 

Chubby fingers! How I loved them! 

How the fleeting years efface! 
Or, is it my tears, I wonder. 

That bedim the loving trace ? 
Though the cheerless years are many 

Since we worshipped at his shrine, 
Still I feel those little fingers 

Close around this heart of mine! 

Faded letters! How I love them! 

Letters from my loved ones and 
This, the best of all, the letter 

Where she traced the baby's hand; 
Little imprint on the paper 

And upon my heart, I fear, 
Sets the harpsichord of mem'ry 

Playing music sweet to hear! 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



The Kettle Song. 

T wish the kettle would sing again 

Just as it used to do; 
I wish it would sing of a lion slain — 
Of a pirate crew on the Spanish main — 
Of a clipper ship on the sea-way, high, 
With a cabin boy and the Boy was I — 
Just as it used to do. 

I wish the kettle would sing again, 

Just as it used to do, 
Of a little girl in a bonnet, red. 
And saved by a prince from a hydra-head 
That lurked in the corn that towered high, 
And the girl was She and the Prince was I — 

Just as it used to do. 

I wish the kettle would sing again, 

Just as it used to do — 
I wish it would sing of war's alarms, 
The booming of cannon and clash of arms 
Of a blue-clad boy where the strife ran high 
With face to the steel and willing to die — 

Just as it used to do. 

I wish the kettle would sing again. 

Just as it used to do. 
The lyrics it crooned and the tales it told — 
But the hearth is chill, and the years are old — 
The fancies it whispered have all taken wing 
And never again will the kettle sing 

Just as it used to do I 



) 




The Kettle's Song 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 25 



The Street Musician. 



A vagabond! A rover in the street, 
A derelict upon a human sea, 
And scorned by those who passed with hurried feet, 

Who heeded not, nor heard, his piteous plea! 
But, O the song from his old violin. 
It reached the spot my mem'ries linger in! 

He touched the strings as if with magic bow, 
And sweet it crooned above the din and all; 

It seemed to come from, O, so long ago, 
Across the years, a sympathetic call! 

It sang a song of fields and pleasant ways, 

And faces sweet I knew in other days. 

It called across the tortuous winding span 
That I have trod so long with wearied feet — 

The rocky path that leads from boy to man; 
He sang the song, so beautiful and sweet, 

That's writ for those who have to sigh and roam; 

"I Wonder, Do They Miss Their Boy At Home ?" 

A vagabond, 'tis true, but glorified 

By those sweet strains from his old violin, 

That called across Time's chasm, deep and wide. 
And reached the spot my mem'ries linger in! 

To think, this homeless soul remembers yet, 

While I, who have a home, so soon forget! 



26 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 

The Town Marshal. 

nr^HE time the corkus 'lected Jim 

Town marshal, fokes jumped ont' him, 
An* 'lowed the job pervided fer 
A man a heap more compenter 
'N what he wuz. But I-sez-I : 
"Well, ennyway, give Jim a try"; 
(All thue the army him an' me 
Wuz pardners, so I knowed, y' see.) 

They 'low he hain't no great success 
Ez marshal, an' he hain't, I gess; 
Fokes criticize him 'cause he plays 
"Or sledge" an* euchre stormy days 
An' chillin' nights, with them 'ats in 
The lockup fer some triflin' sin; 
But they don't know, ez Jim tells me; 
"It sort o' keeps 'em company." 

When Abner cum on Widder Crumb — 

Told Jim t' fo'close on her hum 

Fer debts her man made 'fore he died, 

There's no one knowed who satisfied 

Ab's claim, er cares to, nuther, fer 

It cleared an' saved her farm fer her — 

But I've got strong suspicionment 

Of how an' whare Jim's pension went ! 

Big-hearted, hullsome, ornery Jim! 
If fokes jes' knowed ez / know him. 
They'd vote fer him an' vote him straight 
Fer Keeper of the Golden Gate 
Er 'Cordin' Angel, er, I swear, 
Fer a'most enny place Up Thare! 
(All thue the army him an' me 
Wuz pardners, so I knowed, y' see!) 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS ^^ 



'Twixt Seasons at Swazy. 

T tell y' what I like t' do 

'■ Along when March is gettin' 'thue, 

Er Aprile's just beginnin' — 
The cur'ousest time o' all the year, 
When winter's gone an' spring ain't here, 

An' snow is sort o' thinnin', 

I like t' wander — romancin' — 
I s'pose they's really no sense in 

Such takin's-on an' goin', 
But yender is the place fer me, 
Whare ellums, oaks, an' maples be, 

An' whare the southwind's blowin*! 

It seems t' whisper — that's a fack — 
O' sum ol' friend that's cummin' back, 

A-bringin' loads o' treasure, 
O' golden sunshine, greenest grass. 
An' wortermelons, garden sass. 

An' all in heapin' measure. 

It hints the smallest circumstance — 
A Bob White on the pastcher fence 

A-chirpin', rich an' meller; 
An' all the pleasures yit t' cum 
A-straddle this southwind! I vum 

It sort o' chokes a feller! 

From ever' tarnal limb so bare 

The sap's a-drippin', an' though there 

'S no way of mortils knowin', 
I believe them's tears o' joy, by cuss — 
That Natcher's glad fer spring as us — 

An' that's her way o' showin'! 



28 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



Leave My Dreams to Me. 

T want but little here below, just let me have 

my dreams, 
And you may keep the gold and dross, and all 

the petty schemes 
That men conceive, in Greed and Gain, to foist 

on fellow men — 
Just let me be a pilgrim, lone, to love and dream 
again 

Of hollyhocks 
In riot, red, 
A puncheon floor — 
A trundle bed — 
And things I love and cherish now, that looked so 
homely then. 

Just place me where my easy chair shall face the 

evening's glow. 
Where pictures form with magic art as fancies 

come and go, 
And all the paths that lead away guide weary 

pilgrims' feet 
To cottages with open doors where love and 
friendship meet — 

A humble roof — 

The song of birds — 
The welcome low 
Of distant herds. 
And roses grow around the home and drip their 
fragrance sweet. 




The Place of Dream 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 31 



And open wide the ancient door, so vagrant 

winds that blow 
May bear the music back to me — the songs of 

long ago — 
And echo children's voices — songs of happiness 

and glee, — 
All silent now these many years — and for Eternity; 
Then leave me here 

To dream and rest, 
With eyes upon 
The dying west — 
Take all the wealth the world affords but leave 
my dreams to me! 



32 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 

Grandpa. 

"r\ranpa Jones has turn to stay 
^-^ 'Since my dranma went away- 
Tuz it ain't so lonesome ez 
Whare he used to Hve, he sez; 
Tells me bestest stories, tuz 
They's about when wartime wuz! 

Wartime wuz long time ago 
'Fore my dranpa ever know 
Who my papa wuz, an* he 
Didn't know my ma or me 
When the wartime wuz, becuz 
We wa'n't here when wartime wuz. 

Sumtimes when my dranpa goes 
Upstairs where his hat an' clothes 
'At he weared when wartime is, 
'S packed away with fings of his, 
I peek through the door an' see 
Mostest fun they ever be! 

Puts his fixin's on an' nen 
Just tromps back an' forth again 
'Fore ma's lookin' glass becuz 
'Ats like when the wartime wuz; 
Nen he stops an' wipes his eyes — 
First I know he cries an' cries! 

'Nen I speak to him an' he 
Pats my head an' says I be 
'Staken — them wuz tears of joy; 
"Dranpa never cries, my boy!" 
Nen we bof git laffin' nen 
Us two goes down stairs again. 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 33 



Susan Serepty Perkins. 

(A few lines of appresheashun of one of Natcher's noble- 
wimmin that I've knowed fer quite a spell an' have wanted 
to say sumthin about, but didn't dast. Now she's visitun 
out to her mother's cousin in lowy and I don't cakalate 
she'll see my humble efferts.) 

'T^HEY ain't no words that's got a edge 

■■• 'At's soft enuff, in langiwedge, 
T' tell her virtues as they be, 
Ner give no adekate idee 
Of Widder Perkin's dorter Sue, 
Ner praise her as I'd Hke t' do. 

It goes way back — less see — about 

The 6o's when the war bruk out 

An' things looked dark an' drafts begun; 

The widder's husband, Sile, was one 

That left his wife an' Susie, then 

She wasn't more n' nine er ten. 

Just thinkin' on't, seems t' me 

It wa'n't but only yisterdy 

I heerd the fifes cum screechin' down, 

An' Himeses Guards frum Burgettstown 

Marched past whare Silas' fambly wep' 

An' he fell in an' caught the step. 



34 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



I see him yit, as plain as day, 
A-smilin' in his happy way — 
A-smilin' as he kissed each head 
An' halt their hands a spell, an' said, 
With honest tears a-streamin' thue: 
"Take keer o' mother, won't y' Sue." 

An' then he went! Fer quite a spell 

They wasn't news enuflF t' tell 

Er specify, er seemed t' keer 

How fared our army boys frum here, 

Till Petersburg, an' then it said 

That, 'mongst the others, Sile was dead! 

"Take keer o' mother." Then they cum- 
Her father's words when he left hum 
An' marched away; an', lawsy me, 
As it's been given me t' see. 
Rite thare her girlhood cum t' end 
An' Susan growed t' comprehend! 

"Take keer o' mother." All these years 
I 'low them words 's rung in her ears — 
In Susan's ears, an' there at hum 
She's staid an' worked an' heeded 'em 
Like me an' you an' ever'one 
Of our acquaintance wouldn't done! 

There's sum ol' maids, an' then again 
There's sum as is that mightn't been 
Onless, like Susan, they cud view 
Their duty, plain, an' meet it, too; 
An' if she's single tain't because 
She hain't been asked — I knoiu she was/ 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 35 



Brother Mine. 

TUST like we used to, brother mine, 
•^ Let's wander back again — 
Let's turn our steps from busy mart 
To meet there where our pathways part, 
And then go back — my hand in thine — 
Forgetting we are men. 

Just like we used to, brother dear, 

Let's Hnk our hearts with joy, 
A-down the lanes and pleasant ways 
We knew and loved in boyhood days — 
Forget the world is old and drear 
And be again a boy. 

Let's wander back again, we two. 
Beside the silvery stream — 
Beside the wood where mystery lies — 
Beneath the kindly summer skies 
With sunbeams glancing dancing through, 
And rest again, and dream. 

Let's wander back again and see 

The homestead, where, today 
The flowers weep for one Above 
And seem to breathe her mother love — 
She cherished them so tenderly 
Before she went away! 

Let's wander back, O brother mine. 
And never more to roam; 
With all our boyhood shrines around 
Let's kneel beside her grassy mound 
And tell her, through the whisp'ring pine. 
Her children have come home. 



36 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 

The Children of Poverty Lane. 

"D LI THE little spirits of Poverty Lane, 

■^^ Down through the years they come running 

again! 
Faces as red as the pokeberries' glow, 
Happy and cheerful as any I know; 
Poverty stricken and curbed, but it seemed 
Never to darken the dreams that they dreamed — 
Never to sadden the smiles that they smiled — 
Want touches lightly the heart of a child! 

Lived in the huts at the edge of the wood. 

Back from the road where the landowners' stood; 

Quaint little houses with little above — 

Little within but a surfeit of love; 

Happy and cheerful and careless and free. 

Now through the years they come running to me — 

Still they are happy, their smiles never wane, 

Dear little children of Poverty Lane. 

Ho, I recall them, remember them still, 
Barefoot and happy, afoot to the mill — • 
Grist going through, or the wheel going 'round, 
Gave them more joy than verses can bound; 
Ho, I can see them in ginghams that glowed 
'Gainst the red sumachs that guarded the road — 
Homeward and happy they trundled again, 
Dear little children of Poverty Lane! 

Dear little scions of poverty's child. 
Blithe as a bird of the wood, and as wild, 
Bubbling over with laughter and glee, 
You taught a lesson 'twas lasting to me — 
Taught me 'tis best to forgive the world's taunf — 
Taught me "be happy in riches or want"; 
Ho, I am happy to see you again. 
Dear little children of Poverty Lane I 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 37 

Old Fire Company. 

T dreampt last night! Hain't it the beatenest 

■*■ The things a feller'U dream about, an' jest 

Ez natural-Hke, an' perfeck, I declare, 

A'most ez if a man was really there! 

Like when I dreampt last night, I seemed t' see 

Ez plain ez day, ol' fi-er company 

Of volunteers we used t' have 'round here 

That's been disbanded now fer twenty year. 

It seemed I 'us back a-sleepin' 'neath the eaves — 
The night was still — so still the lokus leaves 
A-droppin' on the roof, I heerd wunct more 
As I have heerd a thousant times before; 
Somebody passed — I heerd 'em holler "Fi-er!" 
I seemed t' see the flames a-leapin' higher, 
A lurid glow, an' then I heerd the call — 
The fire bell in air ol' Village Hall. 

Well I tell you, it wa'n't no circumstance, 
The time I spent a-gittin' in my pants 
An' histin' up my winder, no sir-e-e-e 
An' naybors' folks was doin' same ez me, 
A-histin' up their winders quick ez scat, 
An' lookin' out an' astin': "Where's it at?" 
Till someone sed, frum where he stood it 'peared 
"The Baptist sheds was burnin' up, he feared." 

An' then, thue all my dream, cum to my ears 
The warnin' bell of air ol' volunteers 
With Hi ahead, an' Henry Smith an' Tup 
An' others takin' holt, ez they ketched up 
Of that ol' hand injine. It seemed that it 
Fair seemed t' snort fer jist a chanct t' git 
At one more fire! An' then cum 'Vester Ladd 
Nigh petered out, his asthmay got so bad! 



38 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



I follered 'em an' legged it down the road, 

Like years ago when we was boys an' go-ed 

T' fires nights, an' never missed a thing — 

A habit that has left us now, I jing! 

An' there they was, a-fightin' flames again 

An' Hi a-callin' loudly: "Water, men!" 
***** 

Them words they woke me up an', jiminey, 
'Twas stormin' hard, an raintn in on me.' 



Lessons. 

T RECKON y'U find wharever y' look 

■*■ A lesson in all that y' see. 

As I alius do. That ornery 'Ras Jones, 

He larned a lesson t' me 
When he seed a beetle sprawled out on its back 

*N he stopped; 'T reckon," sez 'Ras, 
"I'll turn him over and give him a chanct 

With other bugs in his class." 

It's a tolo'ble world — a purty fair world. 

But a heap less o' smiling than tears, 
'N it's all our own fault. When a man sort o' fails 

It seems as if nobody keers; 
Y' cud help it a lot — jist give him yer hand 

'N remember that lesson of 'Ras — 
Stand him up on his laigs and give him a chanct 

With other men in his class! 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 39 

A Birthday. 

SHE'S six today! She climbed my knee and 
twined her arms about me, so. 
And whispered to me, joyously: /'I bet you dad, 

that you don't know 
What day this is!" I feigned to think, though 

well I knew what she would say, 
And shammed surprise when she exclaimed: "I'm 

growing up — I'm six today!" 
What is it, when the years come on, that holds a 

man and makes his heart 
To soften toward a little child and makes the 

tears so quick to start! 

I had not noticed it before! I did not think until 

today! 
Her playroom's strangely silent now, her paper 

dollies laid away! 
The little finger marks we loved are gone from 

off the window sill — 
Beneath the blossomed apple tree the swing I 

made is strangely still, 
And silence hovers 'round the house, unbroken 

by her childish glee — ■ 
She's six today, and growing up! No more a 

little babe to me! 

You're six today! Come, kiss your dad and hug 

him, too, you little elf, 
And romp with him and play with him nor ask 

him why he's not himself! 
Just follow him where'er he goes and let him take 

your little hand — 
Don't ask him what he's thinking of— you wouldn't 

know or understand! 
Let's go together down the lane, a-romping in 

your child-heart way — ■ 
We cannot play like this for long! You're growing 

up — you're six today! 
3 



4© SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 

The Lonesome Time o' Night. 

nr^HERE is sometimes in the evenin' jist beyant 
the aidge of day 
When the whipperwills is "whipperwiUin" 
yender in the gum, 
An' the cattle air a-chankin' in their shif'less sort 
o' way, 
An' most ever'thing that's kumpany is sort 
o' laid out dumb — ■ 
Oh, it's then a feller's feelin's seem t' sumhow 
gee an' haw, 
An' there's sumpin seems t' bubble up an' 
clog his wizzen tight — 
Mother takes my hand in hern an' she kind o' 
whispers: "Paw, 
Ain't this * * * * 2. lonesome time o' 
night." 

Round the house there's shadders flittin' — we 
can't see 'em, maw er me. 
But there's sumpin tells the both of us they 
hover 'round our chair — 
Of a little brood o' childurn Heaven sent t' sich 
as we. 
An' we loved 'em O so happy-like untwell 
He took 'em There ! 
An' it left us sort o' gropin' fer the things we 
cudn't see; 
Though I'm past a-faultin' Providence, it 
didn't seem jist right — 
An' I know that maw thinks on it when she whis- 
pers low t' me: 
"Ain't this * * * * 3 lonesome time o' 
night." 




The Lonesome Time o' Night 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 43 



We are agein,' me an' mother, an' we're turnin' 
in the lane — 
We are reachin' what the deacon calls the end 
o* airthly strife; 
An' this silent evenin' hour now, strikes me purty 
plain 
As the correspondin' time o' day that wc have 
reached in life, 
An' we hain't a chick ner grandchild for t* sum- 
how sort o' save 
These 'ere few remainin* minits an' to smile an' 
make 'em bright; 
An' I know that maw thinks on it when she whis- 
pers to me: "Dave, 
Ain't this * * * * a lonesome time o' 
night." 



44 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



The Hushed Voice. 

"^TITHAT mother said — it didn't matter then, 

~ * A loving word, perchance, and then again. 
When childish wrath came in our simple play 

And little woes beset Youth's rosy way, 
Her sweetly gentle words dispelled the wrath. 

And coaxed the buds to bloom along our path; 
Her voice was sweet to greet the morning sun. 

And, sweeter still, when Golden Days were done, 
Her soft good night that sent us to our bed — 

It didn't matter then — what mother said. 

It didn't matter then, but now she's gone 

The world lacks all its sweetness, and, at dawn 
The sunbeams, coming down from Heaven's dome. 

But emphasize the loss from out the home; 
No kindly smiles to cheer the passing day — 

No mother-words to guide us on the way — 
No loving arms that wait but to enfold 

When world and all grow merciless and cold; 
The Kingdom There, I think, is made of such — 

What mother said! O now 'twould mean so 
much! 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 45 



**Yender." 

4<TT'S better hoein' yender — 

■■■ Fer they ain't no stones t' hender," 
The words that Silas Higginbotham alius sez t' me; 
"Th' patch that we're a-hoein' 
Is th' wust they is a-goin' — 
It's better over yender, boy," Silas sez, sez he. 

"Th' clouds is breakin' yender — 

I was 'feared th' shower 'd hender 
Air work t'day, ' sez Silas, kind o' happy-like, t'me; 

"I thort th' rain had found us, 

But I gess it's goin' 'round us — 
A-goin' way off yender, boy," Silas sez, sez he. 

Lor' bless sich men ez Silas, 

Teachin' trouble not t' rile us — 
Lor' fill 'em full o' blessin's jist ez full eztheykin be; 

Them folks, so good an' tender. 

That see better things off yender, 
Th'same ez Silas Higginbotham alius shows t'me! 



46 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 

"The Conversazzhony.'* 

A "conversazzhony" is a certain line o' talk 
■^ ^ At which a man with work t' do is purty 

apt t' balk; 
It takes frum four t* six or eight who'd ruther loaf 

than not — 
Whose ock-y-pation principally is keepin' chair- 
seats hot; 
'Twas started by a poet wunct — the late laymented 

Field— 
(Of all his seeds o' trubble it has showed the 

biggest yield!) 
The which is appertainin'. Why, I'll bet Field's 

heart repines 
If he has heard of that one we pulled off at Bob 

Devine's! 

There was Bates, that quiet oracle of wagon 

circus days, 
An' Arlt, who has Munchausen beat in forty 

different ways, 
An' Willyums, who has frequent ranged from 

here t' Timbuctoo, 
An' Phillips, Kell of "Lunnon, West," and Joey 

Murray, too; 
But they was merely nominal, who cum t' see — an' 

saw — 
The ones who railly give our "conversazzhony" 

eclaw 
Was one named Martin Talbot, who cum here 

frum County Clare, 
An' Kempner, late of Palestine, who ock-y-pied 

the chair. 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 47 



We settled of the tarriff as sich meetin's alius do — 
At 10 o'clock we'd fixed up all the worldly ills 

but two! 
The neb-u-lar hy-poth-e-sis was pendin' with us 

still, 
When suddint-like we switched an' traced the 

tribes o' Israel; 
An' then there's sumthin' happened that I cayn't 

nowise explain, 
An' ever' time I think on it, it gives me rackin' 

pain! 
Jist like a fork o' lightenin* it cum a-crashin' 

through — 
Our chairman, Simon Kempner, sed Saint Patrick 

was a Jeiv ! 

You've seen Missury mules that was startled in 

their rest ? 
You've set down absent-minded on a yaller-jacket's 

nest ? 
You've braved a buck-sheep stampede when they 

cum in twos an' threes ? 
You've give min-ute attenshun to the bizness 

ends o' bees ? 
If not I'm wastin' paper, fer no common ornery 

pen 
Pervides no real ideer of what happened there 

an' then! ! 
The airth it turned an' sashayed, an' the air a 

greenish hue, 
When chairman Simon Kempner sed Saint Patrick 
was a yew ! 



48 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



The Dutch made fer the cellar an' us natives fer 

the stairs. 
An' left our tales behind us with our coats an' 

vacant chairs, 
The English jined the Germans,' an' the Swedes 

went up above, 
Our chairman took t' cover 'neath a cordial red- 
hot stove! 
Within that cleared em-por-ium, a sight fer gods 

so rare, 
We caught a glimpse o' Talbot, who cum here 

frum County Clare, 
An' swearin' by the powers that if Simon's tale 

was right — 
That Patrick was a Semite — he wud paint the 

emerald white ! 

ENVOI. 

The certain sort o' moral that I've aimed fer in 

these lines 
Is "the place fer conversazzhonies" is not in 

Bob Devine's, 
Ner ennywhere ner ennytime, with safety, I'll be 

bound, 
When there^s a Semite in the chair an' Irishmen 

around / 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 49 



The Blues. 

nr^ELL you what, but yesterday 
"*■ I wuz blue! — git that-a-way 
Jist about so often, an' 
Lord, how it upsets a man! 

When I had that tarnal fit 
'Bout ez bad ez I cud git, 
Heerd a man cum up behind 
Thumpin' long the pathway — blind! 

Blind 's a stun! An' durn my hide 
He was chipper too, beside 
What I wuz, an' cudn't see 
Railly why the blues shud be! 

To myself I sez, sez I : 
"You're too durned ongrateful. Hi — 
'Pears you'd orter have your pants 
Kicked beyant all circumstance!" 

Then the sun shun out on high 
Drivin' out the blues, an' I 
'S glad I wa'n't that man behind, 
Thumpin' 'long the pathway — blind! 



50 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



A Song-. 

"PAR set in all this Song of Life 

"•• That thrills our hearts and tones the strife, 

There is a dainty measure — 
A pleasant, soft and happy trill 
To match the song of Whip-o'r-Will; 
It's sadly sweet and distant, still. 

It ever sings of pleasure. 

Above the ribald song of Greed, 
Above the wail of Tears and Need, 

It soars, ever higher; 
As clear as bells or pipes of Pan, 
It sings a song to every man 
Of woodlands, still, where brooklets ran, 

Of running vines and briar. 

As wild a song as mind could dream. 
It sings some merry, madcap theme. 

Then softly dropping, toning, 
It croons of amber autumn days, 
Or of a cot, where childhood plays 
By clover fields and pleasant ways. 

And burdened bees a-droning. 

Alone, in all this Song of Life, 
This dainty measure tempers strife 

And smooths the roughest places — 
A strain as clear as silver bells 
That echoes through sweet mem'ry's dells 
And seeks us out — the song that tells 

Of other days and faces. 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 51 



In the Toy Shop. 

T MET him alone in the toy shop, 

•*■ A pixy all dimples and curls and eyes, 

Reflecting there, like a dewey drop, 

His cheery face and his glad surprise; 
He took my hand and he led me through 

The Land of Tinsel and Penny Schemes — 
He didn't know, but he led me to 

The cherished land of my boyhood dreams! 

What wondrous sights are there to see — 

The beasts and birds of the farthest climes, 
Ferocious and stealthy, yet seem to be 

All set to the music of soothing rhymes; 
What wondrous books in the Land of Boys! 

What marvelous tales of the witches told! 
How much there is in the Land of Toys 

To cheer a heart that seems growing old! 

We wandered alone, we two, by ways 

That led us by castles of gold and paint, 
And on and on till the world was haze 

And din of traffic was far and faint; 
We came to a strange uncharted moat 

Where leaden soldiers stood guard, and then 
We sailed away in a pea-green boat 

To lands of Never Can Be Again. 



52 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



We floated on 'neath the dreamiest skies, 

Past islands of wood and painted grass, 
And fishes looked up, in dumb surprise. 

From sea-green depths of a looking-glass; 
The breezes veered, and we turned our prow, 

His chubby hands brought our ship to stop, 
The anchor dropped o'er our painted bow — 

At home at last in the Toy Shop! 

But O what we saw in that wondrous land. 

Not strange that it wearied a lad so small 1 
He pillowed his head on my shoulder and 
Went out of the world of tinsel and all; 
Ah, sleep little chap, where the fairies spin gold, 
May dreams never end and your youth never 
stop — 
Today you have taught me this heart isn't old! 
Bless all little boys and the toy shop! 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 53 



Genywine Joy. 

"l^O-HUM, yo-hey, a lazy day 
-*■ With sky-fleece skimmin' over 
The fields an' trees, an' honey bees 

A-dippin' in the clover; 
Then sky an' sod's akin to God, 

An' ever'thing of beauty 
'LI smile at you — an' mean it, too — 

As if it was a duty. 

them's the times I live in rhymes — 
When Natcher seems to grow 'em; 

When all y' see '11 seem t' be 

A part of Natcher's poem; 
When weed an' rose an' all that grows, 

An' yeller birds a-winging, 
An' fields an' trees an' honey bees 

Was fairly made fer singing! 

1 alius feel I want t' steal 

Out yenderwards an' waller — 
Stretch out sum place an' squint my face 

An' watch the sky-fleece foller; 
An' loaf a bit — an' dream of it — 

It makes me feel fergivin' — 
I 'predate my happy state 

y^«' much obleeged fer livin/ 



54 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



Triolet—tp Her. 

"'fX/'HEN she comes tripping down the street 
'^ ' I fear I lose my head a bit — 

So blithely move her dainty feet; 

(She is, in truth, a coquette sweet!) 

It's always me she comes to meet — 
My heart is lost — she's captured it; 

When she comes tripping down the street 
I fear I lose my head a bit! 

She gives me first a dainty kiss; 

To hide my joy I do not strive; 
My word, but she's an artful miss 
To win me thus with just a kiss — 
No shallow, passing love-match this! 

It may be bold, but, sakes alive, 
Why should she not greet rne like this. 

You see, she's mine — and only five ! 




The Coquette 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 57 



Pajamas at Traverse. 

TOE FULLER wuz a decent cuss an' good t' 
•^ man er beast — 

Abarrin' sum ascendents that was livin' in the East 
He cudn't nowise help ner stand — he w'an't t' 

blame, y' know — 
They wa'n't no man on Stinkin' Creek more 

peaceabler than Joe; 
The eft'ete East 's what broke him — it ^^ill any 

man, I gess; 
His doom cum in a package that he got by Hank's 

express. 
He got a stock o' licker, an' with package on 

his arm. 
He lit straight out o' Traverse like he'd answered 

hell's alarm! 

'Tware jest th' day a-followin' 'n purty nigh ez 

hot 's 
That other place, when all us boys at Sandy Bill's 

heerd shots 
'N a cloud o' dust was cumin' down th' trail frum 

Stinkin' Creek — 
A-howlin', shootin', sumthin' that wuz actin' like 

ol' Nick! 
'N, stranger, it went by us like a striped an' check- 
ered streak! 
Bill Sanders (he wuz marshal then) allowed t' 

take a peek, 
'N turned so white thet common chalk wud marked 

him black ez coal, 
"Onless I'm goin' daffy, boys, that streak that 

passed wuz Joel!" 



58 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



'N Joe it wuz! 'N, stranger, how he scandaHzed 

that town 
In them ondecent clothes of his a-ridin' up an' 

down 
An* drunk ez seven dollars, an' ashootin' every 

chance — 
'N (shameful cuss) a-wearin' of his shirt outside 

his pants! 
His outfit it wuz striped, an' thinks I : "Th' durn 

galoot 
'S been shootin' up sum China boy 'n took his 

clothes t' boot!" 
We thought he'd gone plum loco an' when Joe rode 

past agin, 
We plugged him. When we reached him why 

poor Joe wuz cashin' in! 

He 'lowed that he forguve us — sez: "I gess yew 

boys dun right — 
I wore these togs in daytime but I gess they're 

meant fer night; 
But bear in mind, yew fellers, if yew see their 

likes agin. 
Back East they're called "pajammers," an' with 

that poor Joe cashed in! 
We buried him at Traverse an we marked it with 

sum boards — 
Th' words w'an't literary, but th' best cowland 

affords; 
We cut 'em with a Barlow: "Here lies Highfalutin' 

Joe — 
He wore th' first pajammers west of Kansas City, 

Mo." 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 59 



The Chanty Song. 

T watched at the tide where a good ship lay 
■*• So eager to be on her trackless way — 
I heard the song of her toiHng crew, 
The chanty her sail was lifted to: 

"Yo — yo he — yo he-e-e — 
Born of the bounding sea — 
Clear and away 
Of the land today — 
Yo — yo he — yo he-e-e — " 
And all together they hauled it home, 

Till, white as snow against Heaven's dome. 
It spread to the breeze for the homeward run 
On the golden path of the setting sun. 

That men, the spawn of this worldly strife, 
Might take the chanty-men's way of life! 
And make the road, as they go along, 
An easier one with a chanty song: 
"Yo — yo he — yo he-e-e — 
Each a brother be. 
Ever to seek 
And help the weak — 
Yo — yo he — yo he-e-e — " 
And pull each man for the other's good, 

Till life is one sweet brotherhood. 
And we hoist our sails for the Homeward run 
In the Golden Path of the Setting Sun! 



6o SVVAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 

The Windows of My Memory. 

*" I "'HE windows of my mem'ry, overlooking gar- 

■*• dens fair 
Where dear old friends and faces live among the 

blossoms there — 
Where all the recollections that I've cherished 

tenderly, 
Have lived in tinted roses and are blooming just 

for me. 

They look out on the mountains tops, the valleys 

and the streams, 
Where childhood, O so happy, lived that distant 

day of dreams — 
Where things so poor and homely, all became a 

cherished part 
Of Love, and lingered ever in a weary wand'rer's 

heart. 

They look out on the passes, and the lanes and 
quiet ways. 

Where daisies kissed my weary feet in those all- 
golden days — 

The pathway, so seductive, leading to the world 
of men — 

Another, leading homeward, that I'll never trod 
again! 

The windows of my memory! Each precious little 

square 
Reflects some cherished picture that I knew and 

loved Back There — 
Fair visions that I fain would keep, but gradually 

they wane — 
I cannot see beyond the tears that splash the 

window pane! 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 6l 



The Old Tramp Printer. 

(The reflections of a country editor.) 

'T^HE old tramp print! What's come o* him, 
-*■ Who dropped around 'bout wunst a year 
In times gone by? That cherubim 

We use t' see, half full o' cheer 
An' railroad cinders — land o' love 

He's tail's a pole an' jest as ga'nt, 
And looked like sixteenth cousin of 

Sum boardin' house, er rest-er-rant! 

He'd walk right in an' git t' biz 

An' choose sum absent feller's case 
Ferever like the shop was his 

An' that was his pre-empted place. 
An' never say a word! But then 

It alius seemed he'd timed it so'st 
He'd git to us most usual when 

We seemed t* want an' need him most. 

The dust of many climes lay brown 

Upon his shoes; he used t' say 
That some was there from every town 

From Maine t' Cal-i-forn-i-a; 
Perhaps his morals want the best, 

Ner enny speshul good t' us, 
But we could overlook the rest 

In such an' interestin' cuss. 



62 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



There has been times, in twilight, when 

He felt right lonesome here, I gess, 
'Mongst strangers, when he'd take my pen 

An' write rare lines of tenderness, 
Of mother, home an' faces fair 

An' fadin' dreams of other days, 
An' then I've knowed some good was there 

Behind his wild an' rovin' ways! 

But now he's gone, an' sometimes when 

The paper's out an' all is still, 
I seem t' hark back there again, 

An' my ol' wizzen seems t' fill; 
He wa'n't just what a man should be — 

No doubt o' that — but when I look 
There's sumthin' hurts me when I see 

That "30" 's missin' off his hook! 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 63 



Doggone Homesick! 

(Lines written on the final leaf of James Whitcomb Riley's 
" Farm Rhymes.") 

THE book is shet! I've closed the kivers down, 
It seems t' me on friends ez real an' true 
Ez them I knowed afore I moved t' town, 

An' nigh fergot — the simpul fokes 'at you 
Have set t' rhyme without no jarrin' soun'. 
So keerlesslike — an' sweeter fer it, too. 

The book is shet, an' still the rhyme child romps 
Acrost each page, ez happy-like ez when 

He belt my hand, an' ol' Ben Johnson tromps 
His fiddle strings, ez dreamylike ez then; 

An' Hst'nin' I kin hear 'em callin' Thomps, 
An' paw an' maw, frum Bethel Hill again! 

The book is shet! I feel jist like I feel 
When evenin' ends a shinin' Apurl day — • 

There's sumpthin' in it alius seems t* keel 
My feelin's down, like dolls on circus day 

At three fer five; I swan, I want t' steal 
Back home again, an' never cum away! 



64 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



When the Last Trumpet Sounds. 

T wunder when the bugle blows its last endurin* 

•*■ blast, 

'N every man has answered — that is, every man 

that dast — 
'N the angel band is waitin' for the final word to 

march, 
Who'll be the men t' lead us through the portals 

of the Arch ? 

Will it be them that alius was conspicous here 

below — 
The presudents 'n statesmeners 'n such as them 

y' know ? 
P'r'aps it will, but, durn it, it won't seem a fair 

divide — 
It 'pears t' me that their reward come 'fore they 

up an' died. 

I've pitchered that 'ere spirit host an' alius there 

has been 
Away in front, a-leadin' 'em, a band o' joyous 

men — 
Them patient chaps that waited fer reward till 

they was dead — 
Who lived their lives an' done their best an' never 

got ahead. 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 65 

Ould Barney M'Ginn. 

A JOLLY ould man was Barney McGinn! 
'*' His spharklin' blue eyes had the blarney in — 

A bit of a poipe hangin' over his chin — 

An' an ould white hat, 

An* a woide cravhat, 
An' there yez have loikes of ould Barney McGinn. 

He sorreyed wid naybours whose hours was sad, 

An' sharin' the joys of thim thot was glad; 

He looked on the good and looked over the bad; 

An' the divil a wurrd 

Has a man iver hurrd 
Agin the ould man since he grew from a lad. 

His greetin* was glad as the flowers of June, 

As cheerful in mornin' as night or at noon; 

"The top of the morn t' yersilf, gossoon — 
'Tis a sphlendid day," 
Thin he'd go on his way, 

The tap of his cane always playin* a chune! 

A storm sthruck the church an' burned it wan day- 
An' paypul moved out an' the priest wudn't sthay, 
An' naught in the parish but wint to decay, 

But the divil, I'm blist, 

Was a bit of it missed. 
Till pore ould Barney McGinn wint away! 

The happy ould fellah wid poipe on his chin, 

His jolly blue eyes wid the sun shinin' in; 

The childer cry for him, an' wimin an' min, 
An' the place ain't the same 
Since the Black Hunter came 

An' tuk off the shmile of ould Barney McGinn. 



66 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



The Old Fishing Hole. 

You sing the song of the meadows who will, 
The songs of the sumach and daisies and clover. 

Songs of the pathway, the highroad and hill 
Where clouds of the summer drift lazily over — 

I'll sing a song of the old "fishin' hole" 
And a wishing string on the end of a pole. 

Deep in the heart of the woodland it lies 
At the end of the pathway the boys have made 
to it, 
Still as the woods or the overhead skies 
And deep as the hearts of the youngsters who 
knew it. 
Ho, it's a throne for a towheaded king 
With a scepter of elder and bobber and string! 

Place where we wandered in Youth's rosy dawn 

Unmindful of life and its sweet necromancies — 
Spot where in manhood we've stolen and gone 
And fished with indifference and dwelt with our 
fancies, 
Ever alert that our line should be taut 
To catch the "old sett'ler" that never was 
caught. 




The or Fishin' Hole 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 69 



You sing the songs of the meadows who will. 
The songs of the sumach, the daisies and clover, 

I'll sing the song of the "fishin' hole" still 
With old recollections all hovering over — 

Throne in the woods where we loitered in state 
And learned to be patient and hopeful — and wait. 



70 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



The Tale the Stage Driver Told. 

"VTIT'HY, he was as straight as a Hmb, sir, 

' ' Slim wus; 
His name? Well we called him "Slim," sir. 

Well — cuz 
He never had no name around hare, 
As frequently happens to men fair an' square — 
We never ast questions of such, do y' see ? 
The same 's apt to happen t' you or to rne. 

Do y' savvy ? 

'Twas thus ran the tale of the driver, as, hugging 
the road by the canyon, he pointed to a grave on 
the hillside, the goal of some luckless wand'rer — 

An' the gal who cum with him was fair, sir, 

At least 
As any, I reckin, back thare, sir. 

Back East 
Where you hail, I take it — with a face like a rose; 
She purty nigh worshipped that feller, I 'spose! 
Her eyes used to thank him like a fawn's alius will 
That's saved by a hunter from, dogs or the kill — 

Understand ? 

And here the man flicked his wheel-horse, gently, 
as if quite unconscious, and softly deplored the 
passing of gallantry there in the Westland. 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 71 



They lived in a cabin, up yon, sir, 

I expect 
Fer six months er more, cum an* gone, sir, 

I reck'lect 
The stranger I brung along this same trail — 
A Yankee, I tuk it, sort o' dudish an' pale; 
He ast whare she lived an' described her fair — 
I p'inted the place an' I left him right thare — 

Right yender! 

And then the sharp eyes of the driver seemed 
to scan the grey path in the mountains that led 
to the two lovers' cabin, clinging there on the 
edge of the canyon. 

But "Slim" saw him first — saw the stranger, 

I ersume. 
An* I reckin, too, scented sum danger 

I persume. 
For he goes t' the cabin an' he fills up his gun 
An' he kisses the gal like he alius had dun, 
Then goes to the rock t' the left o' yon riff, 
'N blows out his brains an' goes over the cliff — 

A thousan feet / 

Then he told of the meeting of sister and brother 
— the latter the stranger — who marveled much at 
a woman who would live thus alone in those moun- 
tains. 

We perjured airselves, like sin, sir, 

Fer "Slim"; 
Fer ever' dogged man that cum in, sir. 

Liked him; 



72 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



We told him — her brother — she'd lived alone — see ? 
That nary a word cud be sed agin she! 
He took her back East. We buried our pal 
Who'd blowed out his brains t* perteck a poor gal, 

Out yender; 

Game man ! 

The driver pulled up his horses and lashed 
them into a fury, roundly cursing society for press- 
ing its foolish indictments. 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 73 



"Discharged.** 

'T^HEY'VE drawed the shades behind me where 
-^ the free land rolls away. 
They've took my kit an' Betsy an' they've fig- 
gered up my pay. 
They've gived me just a bloomin' bit o' paper, 
stamped an' signed. 
An* when the troop goes out again — I've got t* 
stay behind! 

No more o' sleeping 'neath the stars along with 
horse an' men — 
I'll never hear our trumpeter blow "reville" 



agam 



No more I'll stretch my achin' limbs an' drink 
the mornin's dew — 
O Lordy, how they'll miss me when the cavalry 
goes through! 

I 'spose sum bloomin' rooky 's straddle Betsy! 
Like as not 
He don't know "boots an' saddles" from the 
"stable call" or "trot" — 
An' her the best-trained trooper's mare in this 
division, sir! 
It hain't so much for me I whines, as what it 
is for her! 



74 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



I hain't been decorated fer no speshul gallant stunt, 
Except a saber cut behind and one or two in 
front, 
But it don't seem but yesterday that them G. O.'s 
was read, 
"We mention Trooper Jackson for his gal- 
lantry," they said. 

It seems but just a week ago, along that ornery trail 
That me an' Betsy crawled at night apast old 
Spotted Tail 
An' brought the Seventh up at dawn in time t' 
save 'em all — • 
An* now a rooky 's ridin' her an' I'm shoved 
in the stall! 

It's marvelous how grateful Uncle Sam is (in his 

mind) — 
«w Now when the troop goes out again he lets me 

stay behind! 
But there's one grain o' comfort, an' I'm thankful 

for it, too — 
^It's knowin that they'll miss me when the cavalry 

goes through! 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 75 



A Cowpuncher and Prayer. 

T AIN'T much a prayerful man, 

I'spose it's 'cause I'm all alone; 
I've heerd some prayers, tho', off an' on,- 

A padre down t' San Antone 
Wunst prayed fer me, but hell-a-mile, 

I didn't feel no different when 
He'd ended up, as I cud see. 

Than when the geezer fust began! 

An' wunst I heerd a feller pray 

Who'd stole a hawss at Eagle Nest, 
But shucks, when we-all strung him up 

He hollered jist like all the rest; 
I've heerd a feller pray t' live — 

I've heerd another pray t' die; 
But, shoo, the fust one died that night, 

An' 'tother lived — an' that's no lie! 

But 'tother night whilst ridin' in 

I stopped at Dollar Billy's place — 
Bill's got a parcel, now, o' kids — 

He's married now fer quite a space; 
An' thar I heerd a prayer that was. 

That changed my prayer idees a heap! 
Have y' heerd a dad-burned little tad 

Pray "Now I lay me down t' sleep" ? 



76 SWA'ZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



Jist Loafin*. 

np^HEY hain't no sense, ez I kin see, 

Of workin* on etarnally 
'Ithout no stops t' think er dream, 
Er study Natcher's parfect scheme 
That's lyin' all around ye, jest 
Her happiest an' lov'liest! 
I swan, I like t* jist fergit, 
Occasional, the work in it, 
An' leave my hawsses standin' there 
In yender furrow — 'bandon care, 
An' sort o' loaf a spell an' loll 
Agin some ol' snake-fence that's all 
Nigh busted down, an' listen to 
What Natcher's got t' say t' you 
In way o' cheer, an' think on it — 
Jist loaf a bit! 

I like t' look beyant the woods 
To other farms an* nayborhoods, 
An' speckylate on what there is 
In all this hullsome world o' His; 
It cums t' you in consequence 
Of leanin' on a old snake-fence — 
They hain't no view o' Life so rare 
Ez what y' git whilse leanin' thare! 
Jist try it wunct an' take a rest — 
You'll find that it'll pay the best, 
Fer him who 'complishes the most 
Is him who stops an' ponders so* st 
He'll value, when he plows agin, 
The fertile soil he's workin* in — 
Jist try it wunct, an* think on it — 
Jist loaf a bit! 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 77 



In Dreamland. 

O WHERE do you go, little Curlylocks— 
Where is it you wander and what to see ? 
O where do you ride when mother rocks, 

And what are the wonders denied to me ? 
So tightly your eyes close, dreamily. 

When chirp the birds from the cuckoo clocks 
And softly and sweetly they summon thee — 
O, where do they call you, Curlylocks f 

Across a bridging of silvery strands. 

And thence, by a path, to a laughing stream; 
And then, like a wish, into Fairylands 

I go my way on a golden beam; 
There's nothing for me but to play and dream, 

And join my song with the angel bands, 
And pluck the flowers that nod and seem 

To grow in the skies for a baby's hands. 

And what do you see in the Dreamland nooks, 

What fairy pictures are there to see ? 
****** 
The little shepherds with dainty crooks 

Who leave their flocks to play with me; 
A prince in velvet who bends his knee; 

A gnome that lives by the laughing brooks; 
Away in our Dreamland fields I see 

The little friends of my picture books. 



78 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



A Little Girl in Gingham. 

"^^iTHEN, outside, the winter's mantle kivers up 

' ' the tired earth, 
An' within the glowin' embers conjure fancies 

'round the hearth, 
O it's then whilse idly musin' that it seems, ez if 

on wings, 
All the years turn back to yender an' the other 
days an' things — 

Thoughts so tender. 
Way off yender — 
An' y' hain't no real ideer of the sentiment it brings. 

Hands I 'low that God pervided fer an' old man's 

foolish whim 
Seem t' take his mem'ry-pitchers an' to polish 'em 

fer him 
'Twell he jist can't help but see 'em an' believe 

they're really there! 
An' there's one that's more heart-pleasin' than 

most enny ennywhere — 
One o' many. 
Best o' enny — 
Of a little girl in gingham with sum daisies in her 

hair. 



A Little Girl in Gingham 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



Seems t' me, by jist a-squintin', I kin see her jist 

ez plain 
Flittin' 'round among the flowers er a-swingin' 

down the lane — 
Purty cheeks with blush o' roses, heart ez free an' 

light ez air — 
An' a little bit o' feller tendin' to her smallest care — 
Bashful lover, 
Freckled lover 
Of a little girl in gingham with sum daisies in her 

hair. 

'Crost the shadders wife is settin' with her knittin' 

in her lap, 
An' her hair in snow-white ringlets creeps frum 

underneath her cap — 
Age is tellin', time is spellin', yit I never, I declare, 
Seem t' git the knack o' seein' that it's mother 

settin' there — 

Seems t' me 
I on'y see 
Jist a little girl in gingham with sum daisies in her 

hair! 



82 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



Far Apart. 

'TPWO seekers for the Polar climes 
■■• Both left from the Equator — 
One north, one south, they went, agreed 
To meet and recount later. 

The first one found the North Pole, and 

The second found the other, 
And, as agreed, they met; one said: 

"What found you there, my brother?" 

"Beside the North Pole," he replied, 

"A wanderer abided." 
"Your name ?" I asked. " My friend, my name 
Is Theory," he confided. 

"And what found you?" the second asked; 

"It's passing strange, but fact is, 
I found a like chap at the South, 

Who said his name is Practice!" 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 83 



"At Home.'* 

"AT Homes" are most pecoolyur, not t' say 

•^^ they're even quaint, 
Fer, though "at home" most ever'one attendin' 

of 'em hain't. 
The which is appertainin' an', as I set out t' do. 
Gives sumthin' of a idee of the one we anty-ed to; 
The cyards wa'n't delt permiscus-Uke, but only to 

the pick — 
T' jist the soshul fav-er-ites up here on Skillin's 

Crick. 

The cyards they plainly specified "on Mondays, 

8 t' 10," 
The which wuz first misleadin' to the hull of us, 

but then 
We sort o' kind o' figgered out, though down in 

black an' white, 
That she'd miss-delt an' didn't want us every 

Monday night! 
To which conclusion we agreed, resolved t' see 

it thue, 
An' so we togged in joy clothes an' Sunday slickers, 

too. 



84 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



A greaser met us at the door a-hissin': "Parlezvoo"; 
We answered, pert an' proper-like; "An* thanky, 

same t' you"; 
An' showed our cyards (which we opined we'd 

really orter take 
T' show the man a-tendin' door they wuzn't no 

mistake); 
He sized 'em up an' let us pass with nary slip er 

hitch, 
An' showed us whare t' shed our coats an' check 

our guns an' sich. 

The real elite had gethered thare sum little time 

before — 
I won't fergit the looks o' things when I cum in 

the door! 
The gals! I cayn't describe 'em an' do justice, ner 

I won't. 
With twict ez much of clothes behind ez what they 

had in front! 
An' ez fer men, why sum of 'em appeared in 

"huntin' case," 
But most of 'em wuz togged in what the boys called 

"open-face." 

They talked of Elbert Hubbard and of Wilde an' 

even wuss, 
An' lots o' poet fellers that are antedatin' us; 
An' then a vis'ter poured sum tea — sum mixed 

Oolong an' Jap — 
In little cups like thimbles that y' balanced in yer 

lap. 
An' jist a-summarizin', as it's given me t' see, 
They dealt too much of poets an' a little too much 

tea! 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 85 

But this is incidentul — why, they wuzn't enny fun 
Till jist about the quittin' time an' then the fun 

begun, 
When Dollar Bill an' Ornery Ike an' Big Topeka 

Red 
Got playin' three-card monte on the aidge o' some 

one's bed; 
They'd delt around an' Dollar Bill wuz jist t' deal 

again 
An' banked t' git his losin's, when the tarnal clock 

struck ten/ 

Well, say, 'twas most amazin', not t* say etarnal 



queer 



We told him that the deal was closed, but Dollar 

wudn't hear; 
The way he shot that bedroom up wuz sure a 

shame t' own — 
The pillars looked like peekaboos y' see at San 

Antone! 
I hain't no moralizer, but frum this y' sure kin see 
What cums o' talkin' poetry an' drinkin' too much 

tea! 

We know when we have got enough, an' we're 

content t' stick 
An' court our greasy deck o' cyards right here on 

Skillin's Crick! 
They hain't no way t' gentle men as rough an' 

gruff ez we 
An' hold 'em down t' poetry an' Jap an' Oolong 

tea! 
Hereafter all our cyards '11 read, if you'll jist take 

a peek: 
"At Home on Mondays, 8 t' 10 — an all the rest 

the week!" 



86 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



The Measure of a Man. 

TT'S no place to measure the soul of a man 

Out here in the markets of Malice and Greed, 
Where men live the slogan "Survive if you can" 

And hear not the cries of the weaker — or heed; 
It's no place to measure the soul of a man 

Where Strife lives to stifle each kindlier deed. 

It's no time to measure the heart of a man 

When drums beat to arms and he answers the call, 

And goes forth to battle to slay if he can, 

And gloat o'er the sorrows of others, who fall; 

It's no time to measure the heart of a man 
With duty and valor o'ershadowing all. 

It's no time to measure the faith of a man 

When darkness abounds and the terrors prevail — 

We mortals are happy to believe if we can, 
But Doubt is a giant and humans are frail; 

It's no time to measure the faith of a man 
When doubt rages high and the strongest will 
quail. 

Be just to your brother and measure him well. 
Not out in the markets of Greed and of Woe, 

But there in the home, in the twilighted spell. 
With children and wife, 'neath the lamp's mellow 
glow. 

Where all of his virtues and qualities tell — 

Where, if he's a man, all his manhood will show. 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 87 



"Mutterin' Joe." 

' *'"|Vf UTTERIN' Joe" is shot— an' dead! 
•*■'■■■ Cudn't believe 'em when they sed 
It was so! Still Joe's been gone 
Forty years now, off an' on, 
T' all intents an' purposes, 
'Cept sum lucid spells o' his. 

When the "Bucktails" marched away — 
Sixty-one — ol' res'dunts say 
Wa'n't a man on Broken Straw — 
Ennywhere — they ever saw. 
Shot ez straight an' true ez Joe — 
Sure ez Jedgment Day, y' know! 

'Fore he left the townfokes run 
Bullets fer him; give him one 
Fer each loyal State that staid 
In the Union, an' they say-ed, 
Ez they reckoned up the 'mount; 
"Joe make every bullet court." 

Then he went an', lawsy, son, 

You know what them " Bucktails" dun! — 

Fredericksburg an' Richmond-way, 

Back t' Spotts-yl-van-i-a — 

Fer the war! An' how they fit! — • 

Gess they hold the ry-cord yit! 



88 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



Finally Appamattox cum — 
Brung the "Bucktail" boys back hum, 
'Cludin' Joe — er Joe that was — 
Not the same young man because 
He was changed; his comrades sed 
War had sort o' "teched" his head. 

Greeted 'em an' speechyfied, 
Townfokes did; Joe drew aside — 
Didn't seem t' know er keer — 
Wasn't even bein' here! 
Just wud mutter 'ternally: 
"Yes, I made 'em count," sez he. 

"Made 'em count," Fer forty years 
That's been ringin' in his ears; 
Sumtimes when there'd be a day 
That his head was clear, he'd say: 
"One fer every ball I had — 
^n' the last was jtst a lad!" 

Townfokes alius humored Joe — 
Harmless sort o' man, y' know; 
Never begged er stole, but dun 
Odd jobs fer most ever' one; 
"Friend t' all" he alius sed — 
Only war had "teched" his head. 

Wa'n't upsettin' when I saw 
Found him dead on Broken Straw, 
Cold an' dead agin a tree — 
Joe had planned it carefully; 

Seemed he never cud fergit ! 

Gess the war hain't over yit! 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



A Soldier's Appreciation. 

(The Philippine Service.) 

T'VE had a swell dame on the Bowery; I've 

■*• fondled a gal in St. Paul; 

I've had 'em, Caucasian an' yeller, an' told the 

same story to all; 
I've broke with a gal back in Denver; I left a 

case pendin' in Nome; 
I had one — but that doesn't matter — she's married 

an' settled at home; 
I've had 'em of various morals, in various parts 

of the earth, 
But I had t' cum out t' the Islands t' find what a 

woman is worth! 

A-lyin' here like a heathen, 
A fever-chart over my bed 

T' git me my pay while I'm breathin' 
An' check me up when I'm dead; — 

(Say, nurse can't y' give me sum water ? 
Aw, please, jist a little bit more!) 

— ^Y'll learn lots o' wimin — or oughter — 
Y' never have reckined before! 

She sits by my cot in the evenin', fer then's when 

the fever is high. 
An* sort o' smooths out the riffles in the path we 

all travel who die; 
She tells me the tales o' th' Homeland, an' settles 

old scores with my soul. 
An' squares me up with my conscience, against 

the Sergeant's Last Roll; 



90 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



An' t' think of all of the females I've coppered 

all over the earth 
That I had t' cum out t' the Islands t' find what a 
woman is worth! 
(What does he say-the perfesser ? 

Now don't be afeered, mam, t' tell!) 
She lies like a lady, God bless her! 

She knoivs that I'll never git well! 
An' the rest of 'em always was lyin' — 

They strung me all over the earth — 
An' here at last when I'm dyin' 

I find what a woman is worth! 



Defying Age. 

THAT'S the story I am tol': 
"Gittin' ol'! Gittin' ol'!" 
Well, mebbe so, but seems t' me 
I'm spry as what I uster be! 

Git yer fiddle — draw yer bow — 

Rosum up an' let 'er go — 
Louder! Faster! Let 'er sing! 
Watch this ol' time pigeon wing! 

What's the matter — air y' dun ? 

Cracky, I have jist begun! 

Whare's that weazened up oV soul 
Teh me I wuz gittin ol' ? 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 91 



Little Lost Child. 

TV^ITE, on the curb of the city street, 
■*■'■*• With quivering voice and helpless feet, 
No one to soothe you, caress or bind. 
Or kiss your curls, but the vagrant wind! 
No one to strengthen your faltering hand 
And lead you back into Happier Land; 
Poor little mite with your heart so wrung — 
Your sadness and sorrows begun so young! — 
Little lost child! 

"Mike, the crossing cop," sheds a tear 
And hurrying people pause to hear — 
Pause to pity you, lost — alone — 
Then hurry on to their home and own; 
Even a teamster slacks his pace 
And wipes a tear from his honest face; 
Coddled by women so kind and good 
Who lavish the pity of motherhood — 
Little lost child! 

Poor little thing, with your curls wind-tos't. 
You make me pine for a child I lost — 
Make me long for a baby face 
That shines Up There in the angel's place! 
Cease your tears and your fears so wild, 
For all the world loves a little child — 
Touched are the hearts of all who see 
And all the world is a parent to thee, 
Little lost child! 



92 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



Understanding. 

T met a man today who understood 

And loved the Httle things I love so w^ell, 
Who, charmed by songs of birds in field and wood, 
Could tune his ear to what they had to tell; 
Who chose the paths that led through vale and 
dell- 
Let others stroll the crowded streets who would — 

And walked where lilies struck their tiny bell 
In greeting, and — I knew he understood. 

We walked along a quiet country road, 

And flanked by scenes we both left long ago — 
Past many a little, humble, quaint abode 

Where dwelt the simple folks we used to know; 

He greeted honest faces, all aglow. 
With loving words and kindnesses that showed 

He'd not shut out those friends he used to know 
Who staid behind — along the Quiet Road. 

He knew the paths that led by stream and wood, 

And loved the little things I love so well, 
And cherished all, so homely yet so good. 

And knew the homely tales they had to tell; 

He felt the silent forest's mystic spell — 
The quiet charm — quite as no other could. 

And loved it much, and then I knew full well 
At last I'd met a man who understood. 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 93 



Where's He At? 

"VITHERE'S the feller we used t' know ? 
' ' First name was Sam, er mebbe 'twas 
Joe, 
Mebbe 'twas Bill — an' the 'tother was Joy- 
Never got cure't of bein' a boy! 
Yew reckolect him like he was then ? 
Alius was smilin' an' bald ez a wen — 
Had a big fambly — five, more er less't, 
Last one, alius, he cottoned th' best — 
— ^Where's he at ? 

Alius used t' cum hum at night 
Hist off his coat an' light up the light, 
Flop over int' his big webbin' chair. 
Never would stop fer combin' his hair, 
Ease off his gallus — an' remember, by jocks, 
Kicked off his shoes an' tromped in his sox, 
Romped with them kids till he mos' cudn't 

see — 
They liked it purty nigh much ez he ? — 
— Where's he gone ? 

Then when he sot t' the evenin' repast 
Nothin' was finer than hearin' him ast 
Blessin' fer all, with a smile that was meant: 
"Lord, we are thankful fer what y' have 

sent — 
All of our enemies we freely fergive — 
We're thankful t' yew fer lettin' us live — " 
Where's he at ? Well, wherever he be. 
Here's th' respecks of one humble ez me — 
— Good luck t' him! 



94 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



The Man Who Lost. 

It's easy enough when a man has gained 
The great success that the gods endow, 

To take his hand and, as fate ordained 
To place the laurel upon his brow; 

But what of the man who has paid the cost ? — 

The wand'ring one of the Host That Lost ? 

For each who wins there is one who fails — 
For every smile there's a teardrop shed; 

The scroll of fame, in the final scales. 
Will underweigh all the woes it bred; 

There is no path to the goal but's crossed 

By scores of those of the Host That Lost. 

His hands are palsied, his wounds are sore! 

When, deep in his heart, sweet memories stir. 
What blame to him if he lingers o'er 

The cup that hides all the days that were — 
The brimming cup that will shut from view 
The happier days that the Failure knew ? 

Though bleared his eye, in its light there is 
A longing, deep, for a child's caress — 

An humble wish for a child of his 
To lavish his treasured tenderness — 

A mute appeal for a word — a sigh — 

From one of them all who pass him by! 




•?»*., _-°^'; 



'^n^ 



The Man Who Lost 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 97 



The laurel wreath is a fair reward 

For him who won and who fought so well, 

Then why not save, from your liberal hoard, 
A word of cheer for the man who fell ? — 

A thought for the man who has paid the cost — 

A hand for those of the Host That Lost ? 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



When Pals Must Part. 

TTITHEN two strong men, who've passed the 

^ ' bowl and laughed at quip and jest — 
Who've smoked their pipes, believed in life and 

looked upon its best — 
Who've e'er been true when Failure claimed the 

toll it takes from men — • 
Who've given each the other's hand and helped 

him up again — 
The world must turn aside nor heed the honest 

tears that start. 
When two such men shall reach the forks where 

best of pals must part! 

"Old pal" — there lurks within the words a mean- 
ing more than friend — 

A pledge, a trust, a fellowship that only men can 
blend; 

They've shared their woes, their cheer and smiles, 
alike the worst and best, 

And pledged the world for what it's worth and 
overlooked the rest; 

They've drunk in silence 'round the board, and 
seen, with heavy heart. 

The time when they shall reach the forks where 
best of pals must part. 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



99 



They've passed the bowl and ever made of Fate 

a happy jest, 
But, comes a time when cheer departs and Death 

becomes the guest — ■ 
Then two strong men shall clasp their hands and , 

ere the final ban, 
Can look into each other's eyes and each can see 

—a Man! 
It is no woman's heart that quails, nor childish 

tears that start, 
When two such men stand at the forks where 

best of pals must part! 



The Happy Man. 

T do not toil that I may hoard 

•^ The tithe my labor brings to me — 

The sweetest draught comes from a gourd, 

And happiness from poverty; 
I toil because I've hands to do. 

And love of men within my heart. 
And, when my sands have all run through, 

I want it said I did my part. 

The scanty tithe that men can give 

Is but a puny prize at best — 
It is enough that I should live 

In happiness and peace and rest; 
I give my toil in humble pride. 

To merit, when its end shall come, 
The love that waits at eventide 

Within the open door of Home. 



loo SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



Shadders. 

"pUD Sennett, where be you t'day 
■^ That you can't hear a feller, say, 
'Ithout him shoutin' 'nuff t' wake 
The tarnal universe ? Less take — 
I stump y', Pud — take off these things, 
Air watch an' chains an' these 'ere rings, 
They're nuthin' needful, if y' please — 
They're jist a Growed-up's vanities! 
Less peel air store-made coat an' vest. 
Air patent shoes an' all the rest, 
'N wear a cap an' roundabout 
'N a woolun scarf fer keepin' out 
The chisley air, an' I suppose 
We'd orter have sum "copper toes"; 
Less put hoss-ches'nuts 'round air neck 
T' stave the measles off, I 'speck, 
'N wipe air nose, fer all we keer, 
Acrost air sleeve, there's no one here 
That knows er cares fer us, I vum. 
We're boys agin — us two — back hum! 
'N now cum on, fer I'm doggoned. 
There's skatin' down on Green's old pond! 

Of course we can't! I wish we cud! 
My words is fig-ger-a-tive. Pud, 
A sort of dream, an' every day 
The past gits more an' more that way! 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS loi 



Occasional I seem t' see 

The boys we knowed, an' you an* me, 

A-startin' top o' Millses Hill 

T' slide clean down t' Scouller's Mill, 

Then double back t' Green's old pond 

Where, over night, sum magic wand 

Had waved, it seemed, with gen'rous poise 

With jist a mind t' please us boys! 

The girls an' boys of boys we knew 

Air skating like we used to do; 

I wonder if they ever feel 

The shadders 'round them gently steal, 

Er take 'em by the hand and spin 

Acrost the pond an' back agin ? 

I wonder do they know er care 

That 'mongst them shadders flittin' there 

Are shadders. Pud, of you an' me — 

Er of us as we used to be ? 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



Old Rosemont. 

(Rosemont, Near Winchester, Virginia.) 

'' I ""HERE'S something in the magic of the gentle 
evening haze 

That seems to conjure visions of your past for- 
gotten days — 

A time 'twixt day and darkness when the shades 
dispel the glov?, 

A subtle something vphispers of the days so long 
ago. 

I hear the hunter's tocsin sound, and, ere its call 

has died, 
Comes Chivalry upon a steed with Beauty by his 

side; 
A smile to greet, a hunting song and then away — 

away — 
Across the blue grass meadows where the quarry's 

courses lay. 

I see the packs return again, the huntsmen, at their 

ease. 
Tell tales of those old hunting days beneath your 

spreading trees; 
I see your open portals shed a golden path, and 

then 
Your friends of olden, olden times pass through 

your doors again. 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 103 



Your festal boards are spread once more and 

Beauty banters Wit, 
And favored is the ruby wine by ruby lips to it; 
The sighing evening zephyrs that across the blue 

grass steal, 
Bring music of the dance again — the old Virginia 

reel. 

The picture sadly vanishes beyond the evening 

haze — 
Your silence but a mockery of those forgotten 

days! 
Your portals wide have closed upon your last 

departing guest. 
And Death has met him at your gate and led him 

toward the West. 

Your thatch is hoary now, as mine, your comfort, 

as my own. 
Is looking back and living in the joys you have 

known, 
And cherishing old memories — a smile — a face — 

a name — 
The winters of our lives, old manse, are very much 

the same! 



I04 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



Winter Mornings. 

'' I "'HERE'S mornin's when my roomatiz is worse 
than ordinary, 
An' wakes me up 'bout four o'clock, er mebbe 
nigher three. 
An' here I lay an* think an' dream, all soul alone, 
with nary 
A thing except my roomatiz t' keep me 
company; 
It somehow seems t' soothe the pain, jest lookin* 
out the wender. 
The lights from Mem'ry's candles come a- 
gleamin' 'cross the snow 
An 'luminate a pitcher that I see again, off yender, 
Them good old winter mornin's in the Long 
Time Ago. 

Them frosty winter mornin's, how I reckolect 
an' love 'em, 
As peaceful as the mornin's was before a 
woe was born; 
As crispy as the ling'rin'stars a-twinklin' above 'em. 
An* every sound was carried like 'twas blasted 
from a horn! 
I see 'em in the kitchen there, my mother, father, 
brother. 
The hired hand a-dozin' in a straight-back 
kitchen chair. 
An' 'Lizebuth, the orphant girl, our fambly used 
t' mother, 
A-turnin' golden buckwheats on the smokin' 
griddle there. 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 105 



Acrost the mantled medder lot the nayburs' lights 
come shinin', 
A twinkle here, another there, a-gleamin' 'cross 
the way. 
They seem t' call in gentle voice, that's way beyant 
definin', 
"Good mornin', naybur, God has spared us 
fer another day." 
An' lyin' here, jest musin'-like, an' watchin* 
Mem'ry's prism, 
An' seein' lights of other days cum shinin' 
'cross the snow, 
I swanny, seems t' have the knack o' killin' 
roomatism. 
Jest thinkin' on them winter mornin's Long 
Time Ago! 



io6 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



Fall. 

"DRUSHWOOD burnin'- 
■^ Leaves a-turnin' 
Yaller, gold and red; 

Wind's a-singin' — 

Birds a-wingin* 
South'ards, overhead. 

Geese a-honkin' — 

Cattle chawnkin* 
'Round th' pastur gate; 

Trees stopt gummin' — 

Fall 's a-cummin' 
Jist 's sure *s fate. 

Corncrib 's heapin' — 

Grainbin 's keepin' 
Fuller than two ticks; 

Turkeys bluffin' — 

Right fer stuffin' 
'Bout th' Twenty-six. 

Crops all tended — 

Work all ended — 
We're right snug at hum; 

Fall 's a-cummin' 

Jist a-hummin' — 
Durn it, let 'er cum. 









^ 


■V' 


v'-^ 


3 


■ 








" 




*■ 




n 



Fall 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 109 



The Last Edition. 

WHEN the last of Life's Copy is finished 
And edited, baring the sin; 
When the stress of the toil is diminished, 

And final forms wait to go in; 
When the types are locked fast in their places — 

Our lives written there, and their sum — 
And we're gathered 'round here in our places 

All waiting for "30" to come; 
When the Master Hand touches the lever 

To run the edition That Day — 
Then, my brothers of Ever and Ever, 

Then what will our printed page say ? 

Will the Chief edit each little error ? 

Each minor mistake will He see ? 
Will He visit the punishing terror 

On mortals as helpless as we ? 
Will He see the turned-rule in the column 

Each marking a task left undone ? 
Will He note with a mien, grave and solemn, 

Good works that were never begun ? 
When the Master Hand touches the lever 

To run the edition That Day, 
Then my brother of Ever and Ever 

Look well to what your pages say! 



no SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 

Dan M'Carty of the Crossing 
Squad. 

A man of emotions and various notions is Officer 
Danny McCarty, 
He's always bossing the jam at the crossing — 

with some an unpopular party; 
He's a heart that is swelling beyond a man's 

telling, but in spite of all of his bossing, 
He's a saint, he's a lamb, when he holds up the jam 
for a Little Babe at the Crossing. 

"Hold up yer car! 

Sthop where y' are — 
You wid the dumpin' cyart, see^U 

Er I'll bump y' with this! 

Come on, little miss. 
Over the crossin' wid me." 

He's hale and he's hearty, is Danny McCarty 

a tower 'midst greatest confusion. 
He's like to be laughing and joking and chaffing, 

and often he swears in profusion! 
'Till there comes a child with eyes blue and mild, 

with ringlets of gold all a-tossing. 
And traffic must pause for a minute, because, 

there's a Little Child at the Crossing. 

"Sthop! That's enough! 

Nun o' yer guff, 
Er I'll run yez in, d' y' see ?!! 

You — go — to — Well, 

Come on, little gel, 
Over the crossin' wid me." 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS in 



His hand clasp is tender, his Hfe is a fender, 

keeping all harm from the baby — 
(Why, Danny, you're blinking; something, I'm 

thinking, has blown in your eye, sir, 

maybe!) 
She crosses the street and kisses him sweet 

and leaves him there, standing alone — 
(Those are tears in your eyes ! Ah, Dan, I surmise, 

you've babies at home of your own!) 

Then here's to you, Dan, 

You've no medals, man, 
Nor do they bedeck you in flowers — 

But, if danger e'er lures, 

May the Lord care for yours 
As safely as you've cared for ours! 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



Gone. 

T^HE house is strangely silent now, 

■*■ And not the same to me — 
It lacks the joy and sunshine that 

Its chief charm used to be; 
It's like unto a golden crown 

That's lost its richest jewel — 
The brightest part of home is gone 

Since baby went to school. 

Her playthings ? Yes, we keep them here 

In orderly array, 
But they but seem to emphasize 

The truth that she's away! 
They used to be all strewn about 

Without regard to rule, 
But O, they are so orderly 

Since baby went to school! 

Beneath the tree the garden swing 

Sways sadly in the wind. 
And all the place fair seems to weep 

With us she left behind; 
There is no glint of golden locks. 

Like flashes from a jewel. 
But all about it's lonely now. 

Since baby went to school. 

She didn't know how hard it was 

To break those ties that bind 
The day we started her to school 

And bade the world be kind! 
She couldn't feel the sorrow pangs 

As she passed out our door! 
It seemed the babe — we loved her so! — 

Was gone for evermore! 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 113 



Romancin*. 

'' I ''HERE'S sumtimes when the gloamin' sort o* 
* gets the best o' me — 
A time when silent shadders makes the choicest 

kumpany — 
When ol' time fokes an' faces seem t' steal from 

out the gloom 
An' wait here at my elbow whilse 1 shift Life's 

creakin' loom; 
It's then I git t' musin' an' I rosum up my 

bow 
An' take down my ol' fiddle an' caress her soft 

an* low — 
She seems to git the speerit, an' I coax her 

'twell she jest 
Swells out her th'oat an' sings 'em — sings the 
songs I love che best. 

I foUer her in rapshure whilse she leads me on 

an' thue, 
Beside the "Swanee River" an' "In Ole Vir- 

ginny," too; 
I peer thue storms o' teardrops ez her voice 

drops soft an' low 
An' fairly seems t' whisper to me "01' Black 

Joe"; 
There's one more sympathetiker than what the 

others air. 
An' when she starts t' sing it I kin see them 

shadders there 
Draw closter 'round the fiddle fer to' hear 

it— "Nellie Gray"— 
They hain't no other music ever teched me 

that-a-way! 



114 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



I love 'er — how I love 'er! — every soul en- 

durin' note — 
I love her from her tailpiece to the latch around 

her th'oat! 
They hain't no other music short o' what the 

angels sings 
That's nowhere nigh ez purty ez th' music of 

her strings — 
I swanny, 'tisn't music — really music — that she 

plays, 
It's actool conversation with the past and other 

days! 
If I cud have my ruthers when I die I 'low 

I'd jest 
Perfer t' hear my fiddle play the songs I love 

the best! 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 115 



The Place and Time for Prayer. 

nr*HEY met down there at Lonesome on the 

"*■ Spittin' Adder Crick — 
They was Ike an' Humpy Larkin an' — in fack 

the ch'ice an' pick 
Of all the men an' wimin in the Basin that p'tend 
They're ennywise religus. I cut in about the end 

As our old Parson Highbee give the floor t' Izzy 

Say re 
Ter talk about the ethics an' the time an* place 

fer prayer; 
Iz 'lowed he was pertickler 'bout the way he 

chose t' pray — 
Perfurred ter kneel beside a bed most enny time 

o* day. 

The Parson an' Bill Thompkins an' Catamount 

Tom Lesch 
Allowed they'd dun their prayin'est prayer out 

in th' bresh 
With no one there to listen, an' ol' Stinkin' 

River Rice 
Maintained, fer bang-up prayin', why the cow 

range was his ch'ice. 

An' then I reckoleckted of a time out in the hill 
Whilse chasin' of a rustler known as Silver Dollar 

Bill; 
I'm purty tarnal handy with a gun, but I'll 

be cuss't 
The rustler saw me cumin', an' he drawed his 

cannon fust! 



n6 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



I riz rite up in meetin' an', sez I, rite then an' 

there, 
"Now I hain't hell fer prayin' enny time er enny 

where, 
But I have prayed sum off 'an' on an' the best I 

ever dun 
Was wunct I 'us lookin' crosseyed into Silver 

Dollar's gun." 



Outweighing All. 

"lY^OST every man, on reaching fame 
^'- And fortune, be it good or bad, 
Doth meditate at times upon 

The helps and hardships he has had; 
The fellowship of men is much 

As shaping ends, but, back of it 
His life and all depends upon 

A mother's love — or lack of it. 

The Paths to There are rough at best, 

And tortuous, we're apt to find. 
And yet, in spite of what men say. 

The world and all is good and kind; 
There's less of sorrow and of tears 

Than pleasure in this life-long quest. 
And cheering words are plentiful. 

But mother love outweighs the rest. 



SWAZY FOLK S AND OTHERS 117 



Old-Fashioned Flowers. 

T fer one, hain't over-het 

'Bout new-fangled things, jist set 
That down in yer book! I jinks, 
Ever' half-baked man that thinks 
Things is better, as a rule. 
Than they used t' be 's a fool — 
(Course, friend, I'm exceptin' you) — 
Tell him that I sed so, too. 

More improvement, seems t' me. 
In things as they used t' be; 
Flowers in par-tick-i-ler 
Growed a heap site purtier 
Then as now, is my surmise; 
Land o' livin', close my eyes — 
See them flowers maw set out — 
Je-e-emuny, I wanna shout! 

Climbin' roses! — lawsey day — 
Runnin' this and thataway, 
Reechin' out an' smilin', too, 
Twistin' 'round the heart of you, 
Breathin' tender words o' love 
Underfoot and up above — 
Sweetest things I ever saw — 
Alius 'minded me of maw! 



ii8 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



Slips from maw's ger-a-nium 
Growed us out o' house an* hum; 
Wa'n't a bare spot, I declare, 
But maw planted flowers thare! 
Hollyhawks an' pinys, too, 
Smilin' through the years at you — 
Wunder, do y', that one sings 
'Bout the good ol'-fashioned things ? 

Whare's yer new-style orchids at ? — 
Cyclmuns an' sich as that, 
'Side o' these ? Why I kin see 
More real beauty, seems t' me. 
In a rose er clover-tops 
Than in them 'ats growed in shops. 
You take them — I'll take the rest! 
Old-time posies I love best! 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 119 



The Folly of Superstition. 

A S it's give me to percieve 
•*^^ Pokes that hold, er tend t' b'lieve, 
That hawss-chessnuts he'p, er is, 
Cuore fer, the rheumatiz, 
Er that things more foolisher 
'N chessnuts, wuz invented fer 
Cuorin' an' p'ventin' death, 
Better hold their doggone breath; 
Them fokes alius seemed t' me 
'Bout the foolishest they be! 

Take fer instunce Mylo Bee, 
Dumbdest fool I evur see; 
Wa'n't a pocket in his vest, 
Coat er pants that wuzn't jest 
Crammed with vegetables an' sich 
Keepin' ever'thing frum itch 
Clean 't black dipthery frum 
Mylo, an' I gess they's sum 
Doctors nevur heerd of, sir, 
Mylo had pervided fer! 

Wore sum fetty 'round his neck 
Fer the janders, I expeck; 
Toted taters all about 
Fer t' keep numony out; 
Buckeyes fer the rheumatiz 
Wuz a fool idee o' his! 

* * * 
Nevur dun a bit o' good — 
Knowed they wa'n't no liklihood — 
Mylo got — perhaps you've seen — 
B I owed up by a thrash in' 'chine/ 



120 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



Ben Tarr Opines. 

'' I ""HERE'S nuthin' I know, er that ever I see. 

That's half 's contrary ez human fokes bel 
They're sartin an' sure t' put plans out o' j'int — 
An* right here in Swazy 's a sample in p'int. 

Why, ever since I cum t' Swazy, I gess, 

Sam Davis 's been purrin' t' Myra Ann Kress — 

Jist lookin' at others neither one cud abide, 
An' ever'one said it was all cut an' dried. 

An' Myry wus pert-like an' purty an' bright, 
Whilse all 'at Sam knowed wudn't last over 
night; 

Yit Sam went t' Congerss, contrary t' plan. 
An Myry run off with a lightenin rod man! 




Ol Ben Tarr 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 123 



The Old Back Stoop. 

T^^ELL, yes, the house is finished an' it's 
bigger 'n creation! 
There's nuthin' in the township that is half ez 
big er fine; 
The wimin folks kep' naggin' fer t* build it, till, 
darnation, 
I jist plumb had t' build it t' presarve my 
peace o' min'. 
We moved the old place backurds, tew the orchard 
over yender; 
It's purty, hain't it, stranger? How them 
mornin' glories droop, 
An' see that mountain ivy how it clings s' soft an' 
tender 
Around the ellum timbers of the old back 
stoop. 



Air new house is more competint an' cost a heap, 
by towhitt — 
A sta-shun-ary wash trofF an' them fixin's 
ever'where — 
But sumhow, jist betwixt us {hut I luuJn'i have 
them know it /) 
I feel jist twict as happy in the old house over 
there! 
We built it when we married an* we cleared the 
oak an' beegum — 
Around it all air babies uster romp an' play 
an' troop; 
They're mostly sleepin' yender an' the only time 
I see 'em 
Is whilse I set an' romance on the old back 
stoop! 



124 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



It seems — I 'low I'm foolish — but it seems t' me 
the flowers 
Grow sweeter 'round the old place than the 
new place over there; 
It seems the vines clings closer, and I believe the 
evenin' showers 
Fall softer on that mossy roof than mostly 
ennywhere! 
It seems the birds sings sweeter an' that Natchur 
is more tender 
An', O them old man's fancies that, so soft 
an' silent troop, 
Acrost an' old man's eyesight an' jist fade away 
off yender, 
Look sweetest frum the settle on the old hack 
stoop ! 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 125 



The Nursery Battle. 

'T^HERE'S a battle that's waged without 
glory. 
Away from cantonments of men; 
No heroes to figure in story 

Or claim the historian's pen; 
The battlefield ? Here by the fire. 

The time ? When the shadows creep out, 
Then I hear the soldiers conspire 
And hear their chief officer shout: 
"Forward, kids, guide right — 
Let's have a tickle fight!" 

They come pajama-ed and nighty-ed, 

I hear their soft tread in the hall — 
(But, of course, they mustn't be sighted 

At risk of spoiling it all!) 
Their chieftain, he is the oldest, 

His aide is the next little lad 
And the army — God bless it! — is boldest. 

The baby, the pet of its dad! 
Still on, "Guide right — 
Now to have a tickle fight!" 

The onslaught is more than I bargain! 

No martyr more freely has bled! 
But I 'm caught by the narrowest margin — 

The army sits down on my head! 
And they torture their captive outrageous 

When once they subject him like this, 
Till the clock calls the soldiers courageous 

And the army's dismissed with a kiss. 
"Night, dad, good-night — 
We won the tickle fight!" 



126 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



To your rest and God keep every laddie, 

Each brave, curly head of the line; 
Ho, you think that you vpon from your daddy 

But the spoils of the battle are mine! 
And the fruits I shall cherish forever, 

And down through the haze and the years, 
I shall see your bright faces v^henever 

Your battle-cry sounds in my ears: 
"Forward, kids, guide right — 
Let^s have a tickle fight!" 



The Lonely Man. 

T^ON'T want t' be no prince ner king, 
-■-^ Ner armurd knight ner anything 
'Ats got a title hitched tew it — 

Don't hanker after that a bit! 
Don't want no flunkies standin' 'roun' 

'T bow an' scrape an' mop the groun' 

'N call me "king" er sumpin wuss; 

I 'low I wudn't give a cuss 
T' be a "jedge" er even "squire," 

Er "Congersmun," er mebbe higher. 
But— (durn thet sweat-bug in my eye!) — 
There's times I jist swell up an' cry 

T' have sum dad-burned little tad 

Look up at me 'n' call me "Dad!" 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 127 

Folks Back Home. 

TT'S mighty good a-gittin' back to see 

The fokes an' things familyur-like to me, 
Espeshully since I've been gone away 
Fer quite a spell o' years; I want t' say 
There's nuthin' does me nowhere nigh sich good 
Ez gittin' back in air ol' naybur-hood 
Where I wuz born, brung up an' orter staid; 
"It makes a feller young," I alius say-ed. 

I like to loaf around the ol' hotel 

'N gas Grip Martin, mebbe — hear him tell 

Them ol'-time stories like he alius does 

An' how things looked afore the fire was 

In '84; an' how, afore it got 

Cooled off a bit Nobe Terrell went an' bought 

Sum hemlock boards an' built a new store where 

The Soldiers Monyment stands now — rite there! 

I like t' sort o' stretch my hide an' hoof 

In Billy Ross's store an' talk of Rufe 

An' Billy Braden, too; they played — less see — 

The tuba horn an' drum, respectively. 

In air old band — O years an' years ago! — 

But sumtimes when I listen, soft an' low 

I seem t' hear their music, an' I get 

The idee in my head they're playin' yet! 

I like t' meet 'em all, but seems t' me 

There's sum o' them whose blunt veracity 

I can't endorse — I mean the ones who say: 

"I swan, my boy — I swanny! — but you're gray!" 

But others of 'em — them I like t' hear — 

Say, "Sakes alive, you're younger every year!" 

The tarnal liars! But sumhow, when I jest 

Get thinkin' on't, / like them liars best/ 



128 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



Come Back Again. 

^^OME, grand-dad, please come back agin, and 
^^ all you old-home fokes. 

You Wigginses an' Bannisters, an' Marv Ellen, 
too, 
Less set around the livin' room an' have charades 
an' jokes 
And gas about the nayburhood jest like we used 
t' do; 
I want t' hear again about the bear Hi Burden shot, 
Whare Himses house is standin' now, an' when 
y' finish, jest 
Switch off an' tell 'bout Herkimer whare you lived 
'fore y' got 
The idee in your head that you wud like t' 
come out West. 

An' tell us 'bout your journey here, an' when the 
army was 
An' how you marched t' Richmond with the 
1 6th Illinoy, 
How grandma hauled the cordwood after you 
enlisted, 'cause 
They's no one here t' do it durin' the army — 
man er boy; 
Y' mind that Hampshire feller that y' used t' tell 
about 
They captured after Gettysburg along with 
'Bige an' you, 
An' he dug out o' Libby an' went back an' he'ped 
you out. 
An' all o' you was safe and sound ? Well, tell 
that story, too! 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 129 



An' tell us 'bout the doin's here when you come 
marchin' home, 
An' all that you remember of the speech 
Jedge Acker made 
'Bout copperheads an' stay-at-homes, an' then 
recite that pome 
That Lidy wrote when you come back; "The 
Soldiers' Last Parade"; 
Come, tell us all you used t' tell, when we was 
gethered here, 
'Bout fokes an' things that used t' be in that old 
airly day — 
I'll call 'em back, the Wigginses an' all them 
nayburs dear — 
They're only jest beyant a spell — beyant the 
evenin's grey. 

An' when the talk an' embers drap t' jest a glow, 
er less, 
We'll gether 'round the organ here, jist like we 
used t' do, 
An' sing the songs that mother loved, that spoke 
her tenderness, 
"The Gipsy Boy," "Kentucky Home, "an' "I 
Shall Wait Fer You," 
An* all them songs! O please come back, it's 
only jest a step. 
An' take my hand an' speak t' me an* clear my 
dimmin* sight, 
An' let these golden mem'ries that I've cherished 
an' I've kep' 
Fer all these years, be real again, an' mine — fer 
jest t' night! 



I-50 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



Christmas Eve in the Old 
Manse. 

^r^HE flame burns low in the friendly grate 
■*• And, as in dreams, from the magic haze 
They step with a carriage gallant, sedate, 

The maids and men of the olden days; 
The manse is silent and drear within — 

The embers drop to a throbbing glow — 
*Tis midnight strikes, and then begin 

The Christmas revels ,of Long Ago. 

Fair maids look down from the ancient walls, 

Milady steps from her golden frame 
To join her lord in the musty halls 

In minuet or a madcap game; 
Bright eyes repeat what the roses said 

And upturn under the mistletoe 
Till lips meet lips that are cold and dead 

And turned to dust since the Long Ago. 

From out the nooks of the years they come, 

The soldiers, brave, in their trappings gay — 
Come back from the trumpet and throbbing drum 

To eyes that wept when they marched away; 
Their dreams of valor have fled tonight. 

And now when the shadows softly steal. 
Each clasps the one of his heart's delight 

To dance his love in the Christmas reel. 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 131 



And then to the board, to the festal place, 

A feast of beauty and wine and wit, 
Where quip meets quip and each smiUng face 

Reflects the joy that beams on it: 
A moment the revels cease; each glass 

Is raised and vies with the lips it nears — 
A sparkling toast from gallant and lass 

To Christmas Eves of the future years. 

But see, a queen with a silver staff 

Stills Christmas cheer and marshals all — 
Bids host and guests, with a mocking laugh. 

To follow on through the hollow hall; 
The fairy tread of their slippered feet 

Sounds faint beyond where the embers glow. 
As back they dance to the grave's retreat. 

The Christmas sprites of the Long Ago! 

L'ENVOI. 

Old manse, how lonely it is tonight! 

How far it seems to tomorrow's dawn! 
The embers die and, from out my sight. 

Fade Christmas revels of Days Long Gone! 



132 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



An Investment. 

¥ bought some stock upon the mart, no sordid 
■*■ money-bearer, 

With coupons on and countersigned and sealed 
with careful heed. 
That I must hold by lock and key and suffer con- 
stant terror 
For fear some person purloins it and leaves me 
poor indeed! 
Ah, no, the stock I bought today was not that kind 
of treasure, 
I have no means by which to get that special 
class of fee, 
Nor do I care! My stock is in the Bank of 
Children's Pleasure. 
That always pays the greatest rate of dividends 
to me! 

My purchase was a woolly dog, a drum, a cart and 
dolly, 
A Beau Brummell in gaudy vest upon some 
magic strings, 
A manikin in red, and crowned with mistletoe and 
holly, 
A wond'rous book, an expose of fairy queens 
and kings; 
A toy boat with luffing sail for strange, uncharted 
oceans, 
With rudder true and fearless crew and cables 
always taut, 
A prancing horse and building blocks, and hosts 
of childish notions. 
All struck my reckless fancy as investments and 
I bought. 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 133 



Ah, poor, indeed, is he who gets his chief or only 
pleasure 
From clipping coupons from his bonds that lie 
in musty piles! 
So poorly is he recompensed, and, O how small 
the measure 
Of gain he gets when it's compared to child- 
hood's happy smiles! 
I pity him! I envy ? No, all envy dies aborning — 
All doubt concerning which of us the wisest 
choice has made 
Will disappear on Christmas — in the nursery 
Christmas morning — 
Amid the joy of children where my dividends 
are paid! 



134 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



"John Thompkins' Fiddlin*." 

TOHN Thompkins take yer fiddle down — 
•^ It's been so long ago 
I seed y' wrassle her aroun' 

An' heerd y' tromp her bow, 
'At all the notes y' conjured then 
Sound further off each day, an' when 
I ast ye, John, t' play again, 

Yew understand, I know. 

I want t' hear y' take an' play 

Them tunes I understand. 
That "Ryestraw" jig an' "Trainin' Day" 

An' "Far Frum Native Land." 
An' that "My Saylor's On the Sea," 
An' "Nellie Gray" an' "Hummin' Bee" 
O, them's the tunes t' play fer me, 

John Thompkins, try yer hand! 

Jes' tune her up untwell she screams 

Fer them 'at's livin', John, 
Then drap her 'twell she chords with dreams 

Fer them we knowed 'at's gone; 
Jes' take her down frum off the shelf 
An' rosum up her bowstring 'twell 'f 
She's let alone she'll play herself, 

Jes' on — an' on — an' on — 




John Thompkins Fiddlin' 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 137 



It's long ago I heerd y', John, 

There's ages passed since then, 
But still yer notes jes' linger on 

In Memory, an' when 
The bluebirds sing, it seems their vent 
Is nuthin' but the notes unspent 
Persarved frum your ol' insterment — 
I wish y'd play again! 



138 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



Old Ben Tarr's Idee. 

*" I "'HE man who smiles an' sez "Amen" 
■■■ When rain's a-fallin', same ez when 
The sun is shinin', seems t' me 

Hez got about th' right idee — 
Who's never faultin' Providence 

Fer things it sends. In consequence, 
I reckin he is God's own ch'ice, 

An' fair well on to'rds Paradise. 

I b'lieve th' plainest man, whose plumb 

Hangs true along his life at hum — 
Who's square with men in day's affairs 

An' fair with God in even in' prayers — 
Who sleeps an' leaves his latch unslung 

Fer ennything he's ever done — 
Now such a man, it seems t' me, 

Ain't needin' much filosophy! 

I argy he who duz his best 

An' trusts in Him fer all th' rest — 
Who don't doubt Jonah and the whale 

But b'lieves it cuz it's God's own tale — 
Though humble is thet man, and may 

Have failed in every airthly way, 
Yet, peer he is to you an* I, 

An' fit as saints t' up an' die! 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 139 

A Man. 

T^ON'T tell me that his faith was true, 
■*-^ Nor that his trust was firm, nor laud 
His virtues, as they seem to you, 

Nor praise his honesty with God. 

For praise of these is small indeed; 

The while he lived his earthly span 
He only kept a given creed. 

And God expects as much of man. 

But tell me, was it in his heart 

To leave his beaten path, and seek 

Less happy souls and take their part ? — 
To give his might to help the weak ? 

Was he the man who measured life 

In dollars, cents and days and years? 

Or gauged, beyond the sordid strife, 

In joys and sorrows, smiles and tears ? 

Did he perceive, and love to read, 

The message, sweet, each flower brings ? 

And did he pause in life to heed 

And learn to love God's little things ? 

Was woman's faithful love the best 
Of all his life gave him of good ? 

And what found he the tenderest ? — 
The soft caress of babyhood ? 

The while his sands are ebbing low 

And earth and all around grow dim, 

Please tell me, friend, so I may know 

A man greets death, and weep for him. 



I40 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



The Martial Band from Big Elm 
Flat. 

"VXT^ELL, mebbe they don't, jist as yew say, 

' ' Trill their cadenzers 'n whirligigs. They 
Ain't up t' it, mebbe — 'tain't zackly their kin', 

'N mebbe yer idee is duffurnt 'n mine; 
Their music sounds sweet t' my tarnal old ears — 
It carries me back'urds fer forty-odd years — 
'N I'll tell y' aforehandt, I'll wallop y' one 
If y' don't stop bedevilin' an' pokin' yer fun 
At the "rooty-toot- toot," 
'N the"ratty-tat-tat" 
Of the marshul band frum Big Ellum Flat! 

I 'low they ain't straight on the "p" an' the "q" 

'N don't ack as pert as yer city bands do. 
But they got the knack o' playin' t' please 

'N puttin' the limber juice back in yer knees — 
"TheCamptown Races" an' "Rye-straw," tew, 

*N all them old ones that ferever is new; 
An* if it ain't music, whatever it be. 

It's tarnation pleasin' t* fellers like me — 
Is that "rooty-toot-toot," 
'N the " ratty-tat-tat " 
Of the marshul band frum Big Ellum Flat. 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 141 



Another reason I lean tew 'em for, 

Is 'cause I follered 'em all thru the war — 
An' fit t' their music more'n wunct, I declare — 
They was more of *em then — hain't all of 'em 
there; 
Most of 'em's gone. Eh ? Never mind, son, 

Y' needn t apolergize fer pokin' yer fun, 
I knowed y' wudn't if ye'd jist understand 

'N knowed what I knowed 'bout that little 
band — 

With its "rooty-toot-toot," 
'N its "ratty-tat-tat" — 
The marshul band frum Big EUum Flat. 



142 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



Ol* Ben Tarr's Filosofy. 

"DLESSED is thet mortul who 
■*^ Has lived his life, an', gittin' thue, 
Kin wander back'urds in his mind 
T' whare a cottage stands, all vined 
With trumpet flowers, red an' white, 
Er mornin' glories after night — 

Blessed is thet man, I say. 

Blesseder by far is he. 
Still havin' her, who tenderly 
He's loved an' kep' frum passin' harm, 
Kin take her by the willin' arm 
An' lead her tew them joys again — 
The joys made fer simple men — 
Blesseder by far is he. 

But blesseder than all is he. 
Who, closin' of his eyes, can see 
Th' evening sun kiss golden hair 
Of youngsters 'round his cottage thare, 
'N have sum dad-burned little chap 
Cum thru th' years an' whisper: "Pap"- 
Blesseder than all is he! 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 143 



An Old Man's Deductions. 

T dunno, but it seems ter me, 

Things ain't like they uster be — 
Folks wuz diffurnt, too, I 'low, 
Years ago than they be now! 

Uster be sum kindness showed — 
Folks y' mebbe never knowed 

Wa'n't s' stuckup-like an' classed — 
Bowed t' ever' soul they passed! 

Skies don't shine one hafF s' blue 
'Pears-like, as they uster do; 

Each fermilyur field an' nook 

'S changed frum how it uster look. 

Gals hain't haff s* shy an' pert 's 
When they wore them flarin' skirts, 

Pantelets an' all the rest — 

Old time gal's what I like best! 

Weather's got the same idee — 
Great jemmimy, seems t' me, 

Orgust hain't one haff the git 
Up an' git it had to it! 

I dunno, but thinkin' 'long, 

Mebbe 'tain't the things that's wrong- 
After all, perhaps it's me 

Changed frum what I uster be! 



144 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



The Old Home Town. 

'T^HE thoughts of home, they seem to bloom 
**■ and grow 
As faithfully as blossoms used to blow 
And drop away, to follow in the fall 
With ripened fruit aplenty and for all; 
So thoughts of home will linger for a bit, 
Then fade, and we are happier for it. 

The village street that came a-winding down 
Since stage coach days, whence gypsies came to 

town, 
The fright and fear of children there at play — 
They stopped to "feed" then on its creaking way. 
Their caravan went, its white tops showing still 
For miles away, beyond the tow'ring hill 
That rose abrupt, obscuring from our eyes 
The world beyond and all its glad surprise. 
The "Old Main Road" 'twas called and, wending 

down. 
Audaciously, it cleft the little town 
To two quaint streets where village merchants 

thrived. 
And where — it seemed — the care free people hived 
On summer days or cheated summer showers. 
And whiled away, and talked, the blessed hours. 
A tinshop here, and there, with cheery ring, 
The blacksmith toiled and did his part to sing 
The day away; and stealing o'er the hill. 
O'er clover bloom and fields, the ancient mill 
Sent out its song, a crooning soft and low — 
It sang at work and let the village know; 




«j e 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 147 



And yet 'twas still — the sounds of toil were few — 
Familiar sounds that all the village knew! 
'Round open doors were grouped the patriarchs, 
The older men — the group that ever marks 
The village life — and talked of other years 
When war was rife and all was woe and tears; 
And oftentimes their fancies, turned to mirth, 
Some new device, some new-found trick gave birth — 
By subtle twist their crooked canes made fast 
'Round sunburned legs of freckled boys who passed! 
The freckled boys who found the path unseen 
That led away, through pasture and ravine, 
To Scouller's Mill where youngsters got their dole 
Of boyhood fun beside the swimming hole. 
******* 

And this was home, where evening stars looked 

down 
Their kindliest and blessed the Old Home Town — 
The place of dream that we remember yet 
And cherish still and never can forget! 



148 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



Friends. 

TTITHEN Fortune smiled 

" ' And days were bright, it seemed 
I had more worthy friends than I had dreamed, 
Who clustered 'round, felicitating me, 
Whose joy at my good fortune seemed to be 
Without an end. 

When Fortune frowned! 

I know what you would say: 
"They shunned you then and let you go your 

way." 
Not so! Not one of them but heard my call 
Of dire distress, and came, for after all 
A friend's a friend! 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 149 



To a Boy. 

/^OME, a little freckled kid, 
^^ Let us go together 
Swingin' down a lane again, 
Smilin' as the weather. 

Let us go beyond the wood, 
Where there's nun t' bother — 

Whilse we smoke some mullin-leaf, 
Keep an eye on father! 

Take me to yer swimmin' hole — 
Lemme have my "ruthers" — 

Don't fergit t' dry our hair — 
Mothers will be mothers! 

Take me home again at night, 
When the cricket 's crickin' — 

Lemme go today with you. 
An' I'll take the lickin'! 



150 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



Going to Town With Pa. 

T TELL you what I liked to do 
■*■ When I was 'bout as big as you, 

Was go t' town with pa! 
They ain't been nuthin' 'fore or sence, 
Of nigh one half the consequence, 
Nor half s' full of pure joy 
As when my mother'd holler: "Boy, 
It's brekfus time, nigh five o'clock — 
'F y'll hurry up an' feed the stock 

Y' kin go t' town with pa." 

Beyond the ridge the white road bent — 
The furthest then I'd ever went ! 

An' then went leadin' down 
Past Jackson's Crick an' Possum Gap, 
Through woods so dark I hung t' pap. 
An' ever' step showed more an' more 
The world I'd never knowed before; 
Past fields o' wavin' wheat an' flax 
An' then across the railroad tracks. 

An' then — t' Burgettstown! 

Ah, Burgettstown! Me-trop-o-les 
Of all my youthful dreams, I gess, 

Nun half so great cud be! 
The biggest millwheel ever wrought 
Was turned to grind the grist we brought! 
The biggest things the world aroun' 
I saw right thare in Burgettstown — 
No buildin's half so big an' tall! 
It seemed that there was nuthin' small — 

Exceptin' pa an' me! 




' Beyond the ridge the white road bent," 



SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 153 



The sun'd be edgin' to'rds the West 
When pa'd allow: "Well, bub, you best, 

Climb up here with yer pa," 
An* out from 'neath the seat 'ud cum 
The snack that pa had brought from hum- 
Sum hard-biled eggs an' ginger snaps 
Was alius fa-vor-ites o' pap's — • 
An' I'd eat, too, till I cudn't see. 
An* be plum glad, as glad cud be, 

T* git back hum t' ma! 



154 SWAZY FOLKS AND OTHERS 



Two Songs. 

A singer touched a lofty note — 
■*• ^ An eerie something far from me — 
That seemed through broadest space to float 

And echo back from land and sea; 
It was so rich and full and clear, 
It pleased my heart and made me cheer. 

Then through the years another rang — 
A song borne up on mem'ry's wings, 

A lullaby my mother sang 

Of cradle time and homely things; 

It roused the memories that sleep 

And touched my heart and made me weep! 



